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IDYLLS   OF  GREECE 


IDYLLS 
OF  GREECE 


HOWARD  V.  SUTHERLAND 


The  stars  have  been  my  loves;  and  I  have  lain 
With  sighing  winds  and  won  their  confidence. 


Desmond  FitzGerald,   Inc. 
NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1914 
By  DESMOND  FITZGERALD,  INC. 


',  e   .**   ""'^  i> **"'*«  *'       '.'>     ,?      " 


So 
GILES    B.     BOSWORTH 


84921 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 3 

RHODANTHE 53 

SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 101 

CENONE  151 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 

OW,  once  again,  with  lute  of  ivory 
And  lower'd  eyes,  I  sing  the  olden  tales 
Of  olden  loves,  of  lovers  who  were  lured 
In  other  days  more  beautiful  than  these 
By  chilly  Death  from  earth's  bright  winsome- 
ness; 

Who  whisper  now  in  his  grey  underworld 
Of  uuforgotten  kisses  and  vain  sighs, 
Of  trembling  hands  that  touch'd  so  tenderly 
The  dear,  warm  body  in  the  Long  Ago. 
A  little  while  and  each  of  us  must  pass 
Where    these    are    waiting;   where    no    homed 

moon, 

Star-follow'd  and  benignant,  pours  o'er  men 
Her  constant  pity ;  where  no  sun  looks  down 
And  mocks  endeavor.     In  eternal  hush 
There  meet  the  old-time  lovers,  and  the  air 
[3] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Is  fragrant1  witfi  their  whisper'd  memories, 
With  tales   of  Youth's   pure  passion   and   its 

dreams. 

And  though  men  face  with  set  and  steely  eyes 
To-day's  sheer  glitter  and  inconsequence, 
'Or  laugh  despite  its  thunder,  ye  that  knew 
A  dear  one's  presence,  and  have  bent  at  dusk 
Above  her  spirit's  beauty,  know  full  well 
What  lingers  like  the  echoes  of  hush'd  harps 
As  Age's  shadow  nears  us.     Iron  men, 
And  they  that  weaken  in  adversity, 
Are  loved  alike ;  though  Death  be  pitiless, 
Love  eyes  us  with  compassion.     Therefore  he — 
Blind  to  our  faults  but  never  to  our  charms — 
Remember'd  is  as  each  of  us  goes  down 
Whence  naught  arises ;  therefore,  from  the  din 
Of  constant  battle  turning,  here  and  there 
A  few  there  are  who  deem  a  holy  thing 
The  laurell'd  Past ;  who  fain  would  dream  again 
As  others  dream'd.     The  sickle  laid  aside, 
I  bind  for  them  this  sheaf  of  faint-heard  song, 
And  leave  it  standing  in  the  fields  of  Time 
Till  song  and  singer  be  alike  forgot. 

A  GOLDEN  thing  is  friendship ;  holy  is 
-iVThat  love  whose  other  name  is  constancy. 
Idas,  the  friend  of  Jason,  found  at  last 
In  fair  Marpessa  peace,  as  most  men  find, 
[4] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


Or  soon  or  late,  serene  companionship 

In  one  whose  lips  hint  more  than  may  be  told. 

For  woman's  love,  since  erst  the  world  began, 

Is  oft  unutter'd;  but  like  yonder  blue 

That  swathes  the  rugged  tops  of  solemn  hills, 

Proclaims  itself  by  silence,  by  a  glance 

That  lies  like  benediction  on  the  soul. 

The  melody  unheard,  the  airy  song 

Suggested  by  the  silence,  and  the  peace 

Behind  the  moveless  azure — these  suggest 

The  love  that  bides  behind  a  woman's  lips. 

For  even  when  those  lips  proclaim  their  love, 

And  when  her  eyes  shine  promise,  of  her  soul 

Her  love  is  silent  fragrance,  as  its  scent 

The  soul  is  of  the  love-desiring  rose. 

In  olden  days  the  tellers  of  these  tales, 

Who  wove  their  fancies  from  the  glinting  webs 

The  gods  blew  earthward,  or  of  memories 

Robb'd  the  hush'd  Past,  have  told  how  Idas  won 

The  daughter  of  Evenus,  racing  him 

With  hot-soled  feet;  and  how  he  conquer'd  him; 

And  how  the  hoary  runner  plunged  to  death 

Within  the  waters  that  assumed  his  name 

And  hid  his  body.     But  the  victor  claim'd 

Her  hand  as  prize  and  led  her,  happy-eyed, 

From  harsh  JEtolia,  where  her  grace  was  lost, 

To  his  bright  valleys  in  Messenia. 

And  she,  Marpessa,  in  her  husband  found 

[5] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Her  girlhood's  dream,  and  was  most  satisfied 
To  worship  and  be  worship'd.     In  the  dawn 
She  rose  betimes  to  see  him  seek  the  woods 
Before  the  deer  were  stirring;  long  ere  noon, 
Her  household  duties  over,  for  her  lord 
She  watch'd  without  the  bronzen  latticed  gates 
To  lead  him  to  their  palace ;  and  when  came 
The  softly-breathing  Night  with  eyes  of  dream, 
She  raised  her  lips  to  him  so  brave  and  clean, 
Who  faced  the  stars  as  he  had  faced  the  sea. 
Now,  thinking  back,  it  seems  that  in  their  woods 
My  lonely  spirit  saw  them ;  hand  in  hand, 
Serene  in  silence,  or  with  burning  lips 
Vowing  their  heart's  indifference  to  time, 
Their  love  and  their  eternal  constancy. 
Youth's  roses  had  departed  from  her  cheeks ; 
His  locks  were  not  so  brown  as  when  the  waves 
Flung  their  pure  mist  upon  them  ;  yet  the  gods 
Still  number 'd  them  with  lovely  things,  with  all 
That   laugh'd    and   look'd   not   backward,   nor 

surmised 

The  night  behind  the  promise  of  the  day. 
And  deeming  each  the  other  beautiful 
They  both  were  young ;  for  Age  no  finger  lays 
On  her  who's  loved ;  and  he  whose  lips  receive 
A  heart's  impassion'd  murmurs,  fears  no  more 
The  whisper'd  warning  from  the  lips  of  Death. 
And  even  now  she  bade  him  weave  for  her 

[6] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


In  such  embroidery  as  color'd  words 
Can  hang  upon  the  silence,  all  the  tale 
Of  Jason  and  his  heroes;  how  the  sea 
Curl'd  angrily  around  them,  while  the  wind 
Shrill'd  through  its  teeth  its  heritage  of  hate  ; 
He  told  her  of  the  heroes  ;  and  at  last 
Of  dark  Medea,  who  had  charm'd  his  lord, 
Or  so  the  heroes  said,  and  married  him. 
And  then  he  told  her  how  the  land  was  full 
Of  awful  mutterings  of  unseen  mouths 
That  said  her  hands  were  bloody.     Thus  he  told 
The  day's  new  gossip  much  as  we  to-day 
May  gossip  in  the  twilight.     Now,  as  then, 
The  idlest  tale,  if  one  but  whisper  it, 
Finds  ears  to  give  it  welcome  ;  now,  as  then, 
The  wind  is  bearer  of  the  distant  deed 
And  Truth  is  ever  that  which  is  untold. 


A^D  when  she  spoke  it  was  of  other  things 
That  dearer  seem'd  to  him  than  tales  of 
war. 

For  she  a  woman  was,  and  dream'd  again 
Of  that  first  night  when  o'er  her  blessed  hand 
He  bent  and  said  he  loved  and  worship'd  her. 
That  eve  they  linger'd  by  a  marble  fane 
Whose   stilly  whiteness  fill'd  their  hearts  with 

peace, 

And  watch'd  the  Dusk  spread  purple  coverlets 
[7] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Upon  the  mountains'  summits.  On  the  woods 
Lay  darker  mantles,  and  the  vales  were  black 
With  sleep  that  woo'd  the  cattle  and  the  flowers. 
They  spoke  no  word,  but  watch'd  with  wonder 
ment 

The  many  changes,  knowing  they  were  one 
With  stars  and  glory ;  one  with  loveliness, 
With  hills  and  trees  and  all  that  graced  the 

vales. 

Then,  in  her  father's  garden,  he  and  she 
That  summer's  night  had  wander'd.     Far  away 
The  heavy  hills  now  slumber'd ;  in  the  skies 
The  stars  were  gather 'd,  moving  solemnly 
Their  order'd  ways,  expectant  of  the  moon. 
And  now  was  heard  the  twitter  of  a  bird, 
And  then  a  cricket's  protest,  else  so  still 
The  air  about  them  that  he  caught  the  wind's 
Soft  whisper  in  her  tresses ;  and  the  while 
She  look'd  away,  his  love  o'erpower'd  him 
And  he  had  touch'd  those  tresses  with  his  lips. 
But  she  was  dreaming  then  of — Ah !  who  knows  ? 
Perhaps  of  him.     Perhaps  unknown  to  him 
She  sensed  his  adoration,  as  the  flower 
May  sense  at  noon  the  pity  of  the  dusk. 
Perhaps,  although  she  never  felt  that  kiss, 
Night's    stilly    voices    whisper'd:    "Thou    art 

loved!"; 
Perhaps  the  stars  proclaim'd  it,  or  the  wind, 

[8] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


The  hopeless  wind,  whose  love  is  long  lament. 
Perhaps  she  thought  of  whispers  and  of  sighs, 
Of  cool-cheek'd  roses  brought  on  golden  morns 
With    silv'ry    words    of    greeting.     Ah!    who 

knows  ? 

And  wand'ring  home  beneath  the  risen  moon 
She  lean'd  to  him  a  little,  and  his  arm 
Had  almost  dared  to  hold  her  prisoner. 
But   when   at  last   they   reach'd  the   shadow'd 

porch, 

By  scented  creepers  shelter'd  from  the  world, 
Again  love  master'd  him  and,  ere  she  knew, 
His  lips  had  seal'd  his  secret  on  her  hands. 
And  though  his   eyes   were   hidden   now   from 

her, 

And  though  his  voice  was  silent,  she  was  'ware 
That  this  no  passion  was,  no  youthful  heat 
To  pass  ere  morning  with  the  icy  moon 
And  all  her  chaste  attendants.     This  was  love, 
That  grows  in  silence,  love  that  worship  is ; 
Whose   constant  flame  burns  constantly  above 
Life's  grey  illusion,  and  essays  to  light 
The  hopeless  highways  through  the  realms  of 

Death. 

And  then  with  face  uplifted,  that  his  eyes 
Might  seek  her  own  eyes'  solace,  he  had  told 
His  love  for  her,  and  how,  as  in  a  net 
The  tangled  bird  may  flutter,  now  his  heart 

[9] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Was  caught  for  ever  by  that  guileless  charm 
With  which  the  gods  had  graced  her.     He  was 

one 

Who  lived  for  action ;  and  his  speech  was  bare 
As  winter's   dreamless  branches;   but   a   sheen 
Encircled  him  that  evening,  and  his  words 
Seem'd  golden  like  the  heart-song  of  a  bird 
That  sings  its  joyous  message  in  the  sun. 
And  he  had  won  her,  though  the  moon  was  gone 
Before,  all  lily-like,  she  droop'd  to  him 
And  kiss'd  his  forehead,  saying  she  was  his ; 
And  kiss'd  again,  as  if  she  knew  that  now 
The   gods  would  eye  them   through   unkindly 

lids 

And  wreck  the  flimsy  fabric  of  their  dream. 
For  they  that  sit  in  judgment  love  us  not 
Who  dwell  in  Time,  imprison'd,  till  we  seek 
The  silence  and  the  shadow.     From  their  seats 
They  watch  our  vain  endeavor,  hear  our  sighs, 
And  note  the  eager  groping  of  our  hands 
To  hands  that  tremble  uswards;  through  the 

dusk 

Our  whispers  rise  and  vanish,  and  they  hear, 
And  hollow  laughter  thins  the  lips  of  them. 
For  human  loves  are  holy ;  our  desire 
Outflames  their  awful  splendor;  and  although 
They  scorn  us,  who  are  hostages  of  Death, 
They  envy  us,  and  hate  us  for  our  dreams. 
[10] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


A^D    so    the    while    they    linger'd    in    the 
woods, 

And  Idas  bade  her  whisper,  to  her  love 
Marpessa  told  that  story.     And  it  seem'd 
Each  time  he  heard  it,  it  was  ever  new, 
Or,  like  a  jewel  held  against  the  sun, 
Took   unknown  beauties   to   it.     Through   the 

trees 

Serenity  beheld  them,  marvelling, 
As  Nature  ever  marvels  at  the  fair, 
At  so  much  happiness  in  two  so  fond, 
In  two  so  pure  and  perfect.     To  the  trees 
They  seem'd  akin,  and  to  the  wind-swept  hills 
Array'd  in  joyous  colors;  to  the  birds, 
Singing  from  hearts  so  cramm'd  with  happiness 
They  never  can  outpour  it,  they  were  things 
Half  unsubstantial,  with  the  tiny  blooms 
That  smiled  their  stilly  message  of  delight. 
And  when  her  voice  was  silent,  and  the  tale 
Was  ended,  he  would  question :  "  Even  now 
I  know  not  how  I  won  thee,  I,  whose  arms 
Have  fear'd  to  clasp  thy  beauty."     And  she 

smiled 
And  bade  him  wonder.     "  While   I  live,"   she 

said, 

"  My  love  must  needs  be  silent.     When  I  die 
I'll  whisper  thee  its  secret,  and  thy  heart 
Shall  strain  against  the  barriers  of  death 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


To  bring  me  solace."     And  he  bent  to  her, 
And  said :  "  I  love  thee,  and  would  e'er  abide 
Within  the  folded  pinions  of  thy  soul, 
At  peace  and  happy.    If  thou  venturest 
Where  ghosts  await  us  ere  I  go  with  thee, 
Thy  love  shall  draw  me  thither;  should  I  go, 
I'll  wait  thy  boat's  still  beaching,  and  assuage 
Thy  murmurs  with  the  welcome  of  mine  eyes." 
"  My  love  thou  art,"  she  whisper'd.     "  I  am 

thine. 

Our  day  is  at  its  morning;  music  fills 
Our  happy  hearts  as  now  the  air  is  fill'd 
With  yon  dear  bird's  impassion'd  melody. 
The  noon  shall  follow  with  its  sense  of  peace, 
Then  blessed  evening  with  its  memories 
And  all  the  sweet  companionship  of  stars. 
I  gaze  untroubled  down  the  aisles  of  Time, 
Because  thy  love  shall  guard  me."     Then  he 

kiss'd 

The  hand  that  touch'd  ail-tenderly  his  hair. 
"  I  only  know  I  love  thee,"  he  replied. 
"  Thy  words  are  music ;  let  my  silence  be 
The  air  that  would  contain  them.     Hark!  the 

bird 

Has  pity  on  my  dumbness,  and  to  thee 
Would  sing  the  benediction  in  my  heart." 
And  then  they  listen'd,  and  the  woods  became 
Their  temple,  and  the  bird  its  feather'd  priest 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


Whose   wholesome   adoration   pleased   the  gods 
And  made  the  solemn  eyes  of  them  grow  kind. 
Then  Idas  press'd  his  dear  one  close  to  him. 
"  It  loves,"  he  said.     "  It  loves,  and  therefore 

sings. 

But  though  I  love,  my  worship  must  be  mute, 
My  fond  Marpessa,  my  beloved  wife." 
And  then,  perhaps,  she  raised  to  his  her  lips 
And  saw,  with  closed  eyes,  the  olden  dream 
In  all  its  purity.     Oh !  never  say 
That  love  is  aught  but  holy.     From  the  dark 
We  journey  to  the  darkness;  love,  the  while, 
Enswathes  us  in  its  utter  spotlessness 
And  makes  of  poor,  imperfect  instruments 
Things  worth  the   What's-to-follow.     Love  is 

all. 

FOR  two  swift  years  the  gods   look'd  care 
lessly 

On  Idas  and  Marpessa.     There  were  wars 
'Twixt  god  and  god,  intrigues  and  jealousies 
To  hold  their  bright  attention;  otherwheres 
Kings  robed  in  purple,  wearing  crowns  of  gold, 
Look'd  at  the  stars  perhaps  too  haughtily, 
Or   plann'd   To-morrow's    conquest;   them   the 

gods 

Smote  silently  and  swiftly,  laughing  long 
To  see  the  pomp  that  follow'd  them  to  death, 
[13] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


As  if  they  thought  their  banners  or  their  plumes 

Might  alter  Death's  enorme  solemnity, 

Or   hint:    These    once    were    kings.     For    two 

swift  years 
Those  lovers,  now  long  silent,   dream'd  their 

dreams. 

They  laugh'd  together  in  the  morning's   cool 
And  raised  their  babes.     And  then   the  gods 

look'd  down 

And  saw  their  fondness,  and  an  arch'd  surprise 
Above  their  heavy  eyes  bode  ill  to  them. 


S  when  great  birds,  white-plum  aged  in 

the  foam 

Of    untrack'd     seas     from    drowsiness 
awake, 

And  make  the  bright  air  brighter  with  the  flash 
Of    light-tipp'd    wings,    so    now    the    shining 

heavens 

Wherein  the  gods  gleam'd  idly,  seem'd  awake 
As,  one  by  splendid  one,  they  roused  themselves. 
Then  moved  among  them  a  delightful  boy, 
The   star-eyed  Ganymedes,  loved  of  Zeus, 
Whose  rounded  limbs  the  winds  kiss'd  joyously 
The  while  he  slumber'd ;  in  his  hand  he  bore 
A  crystal  goblet  topp'd  with  fragrant  foam, 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


And  touch'd   each  snowy   shoulder.     And  the 

gods 

Were  glad  to  see  his  pretty  artlessness 
So  drank  and  laugh'd,  and,  laughing,  drank 

again. 

And  then  on  golden  platters,  finely  wrought, 
Most  rich  in  pictures  of  heroic  deeds 
And  loves  now  sung  by  singers  and  the  stars, 
The  curl-brow'd  boy  to  each  reclining  god 
Took  honey-sweet  ambrosia ;  and  they  ate, 
And  thus  renew'd  their  youth.     And  being  fill'd 
They    look'd   again   to   where    the   fair   earth 

gleam'd 

As  gleams  a  crystal  river  when  the  sun 
Pours  its  hot  love  upon  it.     Saying  naught 
They  gazed  thereon  in  rapture,  much  as  we 
May  watch  the  thing  from  which  still  Beauty's 

breath 

Has  blown  the  grossness,  asking  of  themselves 
Why  Zeus  had  made  a  toy  so  beautiful 
For  Time's  dull  tooth  to  gnaw  at,  and  despoil. 
Swiftly  they  saw  with  their  all-seeing  eyes 
The  mountains'  majesty,  the  charm  of  vales, 
The  drowsy  forest's  beauty ;  from  the  woods 
Their  gaze  turned  slowly  to  the  silv'ry  streams 
That  wound  through  gay  and  flower-enamell'd 

meads 

And  laugh'd  while  Death  allur'd  them  to  the  sea. 
[15] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


They  saw  the  city  with  its  hordes  of  men 

As  blind  and  selfish  as  their  sons  to-day ; 

Amassing  wealth  beyond  the  needs  of  them, 

Disputing  vainly  in  their  ignorance 

Of  things  as  far  beyond  them  as  the  stars. 

They  laugh'd  to  see  the  soldier's  martial  stride, 

The  condescension  of  the  sated  lord, 

Who  smiled  on  worth  and  frown'd  on  poverty 

While  Death  stood  silently  beside  his  seat 

And  eyed  him  with  grave  patience.     In  their 

hearts 

They  mock'd  man's  pride,  and  wish'd  him  bit 
terness. 

They  saw  the  hardy  peasant  at  his  task 
Behind  his  straining  oxen;  on  the  hills 
The  piping  boy  with  brown'd  and  sturdy 

limbs 

Beside  his  sheep ;  and  where  the  rocking  sea 
Responded  to  the  wooing  of  the  sun, 
And  gleam'd  its  pleasure,  bearded  fishermen 
Whose  eyes  roved  landward  where  their  loved 

ones  were. 

They  saw  the  priests  perform  the  sacrifice 
On  ancient  altars  hewn  from  gleaming  stone, 
While   white-robed   vestals  watch'd  the  sacred 

flames 

And  sang  the  solemn  pseans ;  in  the  fields 
They  saw  the  women  bent  above  the  grapes. 
[16] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


The    tranquil    kine    amused    them,    for    they 

thought 

Of  restless  lo's  heavy  punishment; 
And  when  a  deer  would  raise  its  antler'd  head, 
Or  the  meek  rabbit  signal  its  affright 
With  lifted  ears  alert  to  every  sound, 
Their  bright  eyes  widen'd  as  they  hoped  to  see 
A  shepherd's  wooing  of  a  willing  nymph. 
And  loud  they  laugh'd  to  hear  what  vows  he 

made 

Of  lasting  faith,  or  swore  to  cherish  her 
Despite  her  fault ;  for  well  the  wise  gods  knew 
The   bees   are   fond   while    flowers    are   yet    to 

win, 
But  soon  forget  the  flower  that  is  despoil'd. 

A3  ART  from  all  the  rest,  Apollo  sat, 
But  eyed  the  earth  as  idly.    In  his  hair 
Such  glory  linger'd  that  his  face  was  bright 
As  is  the  sun  itself,  and  yet  his  eyes 
Were  blacker  than  the  gloom  of  wintry  skies 
Ere  stars  adventure  from  their  hiding  place. 
One  hand  lay  heavy  on  his  marbled  knee 
As,  forward  bent,  his  gaze  pierced  fearlessly 
The  gulfs  of  blue ;  the  other  held  the  lyre 
With  which  at  times  he  charm'd  his  grave  com 
peers 
By  dream-evoking  music,  strains  as  sad 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


As  Day's  bright  scorn  or  Night's  sweet  con 
stancy. 

But  now,  though  Zeus  oft  eyed  him  lovingly 
As  if  in  supplication,  at  his  side 
The  lyre  was  mute ;  for  where  the  trees  enclosed 
A  moveless  pool  on  that  revolving  sphere 
Where  dreams  are  born  that  Fate  may  mock  at 

them, 

He  saw — Marpessa.     And  the  joy  in  him 
Became  extinguish'd  like  a  blown-out  light 
Because,  ail-suddenly,  he  longed  for  her, 
Who  seem'd  a  thing  of  whitest  ivory 
Within  an  em'rald  casket ;  like  a  flame 
His  joy  leap'd  up  and  suddenly  went  out 
And  left  his  huge  heart  empty,  as  to-day 
Our  little  joy  as  suddenly  is  gone 
As  is  the  fragrance  of  the  fated  rose. 
But  heedless  of  the  ever-burning  gaze 
That    flamed    above    her    movements,    in    the 

pool 

Marpessa  bathed,  her  black  hair  having  bound 
About  her  brows  ail-tightly.     By  the  reeds 
Her  garments  lay,  and  though  they  snowy  were 
Yet  she  was  whiter,  for  her  purity 
Herself  was,  as  its  pallor  is  the  moon, 
And  though  a  wife  yet  was  she  innocent. 
The  pretty  deer,  with  large  and  lustrous  eyes 
And  hesitating  hoofs,  came  from  the  trees 
[18] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


And  nosed  the  glinting  water,  eyeing  her 

As    though   she   were    a    thing    of   woods    and 

hills, 

A  thing  that  knew  and  loved  them;  and  anon, 
When  they  had  sensed  the  loveliness  of  her 
And  sipp'd  their  fill,  they  turn'd  their  heads 

from  her 

And  shyly  sought  the  forest's  shade  again. 
The  birds,  attired  in  brilliant  liveries, 
Consider'd  her  a  sister,  look'd  at  her, 
And    sang    while    looking;    then,  with    wetted 

wings, 

Flew  to  their  mates  and  woke  the  scented  peace 
With  twitter'd  gossip,  till  these  others  sought 
The  little  pool  that  held  the  wonder-one. 
Then,  as  he  gazed,  their  swiftly-moving  wings 
Seem'd  brighter  to  Apollo  than  the  skies 
When  sunset  tints  them ;  and  he  envied  them 
Their  fondness  for  Marpessa.     From  his  seat 
He  tower' d  as  suddenly  as  does  the  flame 
The  winds  have  tortured;  and  had  sought  her 

then, 

While  yet  his  heart's  Titanic  passion-throb 
Paled  his  bright  face.     But  Zeus,  the  Father, 

call'd, 
And  set  him  to  a  task  that  hinder'd  him. 


[19] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


ATO  once  again,  that  same  task  being  done, 
He  peer'd  from  out  the  shelter  of  a  cloud 
And  saw  Marpessa.     It  was  Even  now, 
And  they  that  mock  the  destinies  of  men 
Sat  solemnly  together,  knee  by  knee, 
Beneath  grave  Zeus  and  his  all-jealous  spouse. 
And  while  they  whisper'd  of  the  day  to  come, 
The  sad-eyed  Dusk,  with  dreams  in  either  hand, 
Stepp'd  from  their  midst  and  sought  the  weary 

earth. 

Before  the  gentle  sorrow  of  her  face 
The  light  withdrew,  to  men  whom  Sleep  still 

bless'd 

Bearing  the  day's  illusion,  and  the  hope 
For  that  which,  being  granted,  proves  but  vain. 
And  while  he  gazed  upon  the  half-hush'd  woods, 
Where  now  the  trees  in  blessed  stillness 
Exhaled  their  souls,  all-grateful  for  the  day, 
From  out  their  gardens  to  the  greater  peace 
Marpessa  came,  and  Idas.     Lover-like, 
His  arm  was  still  about  her;  and  again 
He  charm'd  her  with  the  story  of  their  love 
In  days  that  now  seem'd  days  of  golden  dream. 
And  though  so  oft  the  story  he  had  told, 
Yet  seem'd  it  ever  new.     In  wonderment 
She  walk'd  beside  him,  raising  trustingly 
Her  eyes  to  his  when  he  a  deed  recall'd 
That  brought  the  Past  back,  and  its  memories. 
[20] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


Above    their   heads,    where    arch'd    the    heavy 

boughs, 
The  birds   cheep'd   faintly,  knowing  that  the 

night 

Was  drawing  nigh,  and  soon  the  hateful  owl 
Would  hoot  its  feud  against  all  feather'd  things 
And  furry  creatures,  while  the  heartless  moon 
Cross'd  regally  the  heavens.     Amid  the  leaves 
In  blest  security  they  hid  their  heads 
Beneath  their  wings,  and  then  the  woods  were 

still 

As  if  with  expectation.     And  the  while 
The  darkness  thicken'd,  by  a  well-known  path 
The  lovers  sought  a  bower  beloved  of  them, 
And  whisper'd  there,  as  if  the  birds  might  hear, 
About  their  love  that  still  so  wondrous  seem'd. 
Forgetting    naught    they    lived    their    dream 

again — 
Their  first  sweet  stammer'd  vows;  her  first  shy 

kiss 

When,  so  it  seem'd,  the  gods  had  turn'd  aside 
In  envy  of  a  girl's  pure  tenderness; 
The  silence  that  was  music;  and  the  calm 
That  slowly  flamed  to  passion — Ah !  if  thou 
Whose  lids  now  droop  above  this  halting  line 
Hast  loved  as  they  loved,  let  thy  mem'ry  paint 
That  perfect  picture  for  thee.     Having  loved 
Thou  knowest  all  things  perfect;  one  thou  art 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


With   Idas    or   Marpessa.     Kingdoms    change, 
Stars  wane   and  mountains  vanish;  love  alone 
Remains  To-day  what  Yesterday  it  was, 
And  makes  us  kin  to  all  that's  turn'd  to  dust. 


A^D  while   the  Night  enswathed  the  sleep 
ing  earth, 

Asserting  its  dominion  over  men 
Whose  hearts  were  joyous,  men  whose  hearts 

were   sad, 
Where   dream'd   the   gods,   the    ever-deathless 

ones, 

It  darken'd  too.     Each  splendid  star  now  faced 
Its  sister  orb  in  silv'ry  sympathy 
And  left  the  high  air  widow'd  ;  but  there  glow'd 
Where  sat  the  gods,  a  steely  after-light 
In  luminous  suggestion,  such  as  woos 
The  crystal  fringes  of  the  rolling  sphere 
Where  white-furr'd  bear  tread  heavily  the  snow. 
The  winds  stroked  rhymeless  music  from  their 

harps, 

Intoning  solemnly  their  airy  chant 
In  praise  of  Zeus.     "  Supremest  !     Thunderer  ! 
Whose  glance  is  as  the  lightning;  thou  whose 

breath 

Titanic  cedars  bends  submissively, 
Heaps  sea  on  sea,  extinguishes  the  stars  ! 
Gather'd  from  far  we  kneel  and  worship  thee 
[22] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


In  wild,  unfetter'd  music.     W.e  have  seen 
Man's  pitiful  endeavors,  deeds  and  dreams 
Beneath   thy   notice.     Death    makes   mock    of 

them, 

Whose  little  life  is  spent  ere  thou  and  thine 
Are  conscious  of  their  being.     Thee  we  praise, 
Who  art  alone  enduring;  by  whose  will 
We  wake  from  nothing,  by  whose  will  we  die." 
But  Zeus,  with  sad,  impenetrable  eyes, 
Gazed  into  space,  well-knowing  that  at  last 
Creator  and  created  are  as  one — 
Are  doom'd  as  is  the  sunset's  holy  glow, 
Are  vain  as  are  the  hopes  of  yesterday. 
And  then  the  gods  that  sat  at  Zeus's  feet 
With  half-hush'd  voices  answer'd :  "  Thou  art 

he 

Whose  eyes  have  dream'd  all  things  of  conse 
quence. 

Before  it  came,  thou  knewest  of  To-day 
And  Destiny's  decrees.     We  bend  to  thee 
Who  art  the  Father."     And  again  the  winds 
Intoned  their  praise :  "  Thou  only   canst  out- 
stare 
The  eyes  of  Time.     Death  lays  no  hands  on 

thee; 

But  crams  his  grey  and  echoless  abode 
With  all  that  thou  Greatest.    Thou  art  he 
To  whom  they  wildly  clamor  ere  they  tread 
[23] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


The  way  that  leads  to  silence  and  despair." 
Then  once  again  the  gods'  deep  murmurs  voiced 
Their  answ'ring  adoration  ;  but  the  eyes 
Of  Zeus  were  fix'd  and  moody.     So  the  rock, 
Unmindful  of  the  passion  of  the  sea, 
Awaits  its  end;  it  scorns  the  sun's  caress, 
The  wind's  advances  and  the  lightning's  hate. 


A^D  now  the  heights  were  silent.     Cloud  on 
cloud, 

With  fleecy  shoulders  leaning  each  to  each, 
Took  for  the  night  their  stations,  while  the 

winds 

Remain'd  without  and  roam'd,  disconsolate, 
The  starry  highways.     One  by  splendid  one 
The  gods  lay  down  to  wait  Aurora's  call 
To  see  the  dawnburst,  note  with  ecstasy 
The  modest  flower's  unfolding,  and  delight 
In  that  first  note  with  which  the  happy  bird 
Heralds  the  day  and  all  its  promises. 
Austerely  silent,  at  the  feet  of  Zeus 
They  fell  asleep,  or  gazed  through  half-closed 

eyes 

Upon  the  face  that  brooded  over  them. 
And  once  again,  like  huge  and  moveless  birds, 
The  watchers  of  the  tragedies  of  men 
Lay  couch'd  amid  the  cloud-mass  stillily  ; 
Prepared  to  dream  of  flights  against  the  sun, 

[V] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


Enormous  circlings  to  the  pleasant  earth 

Or    swift    descents    through    endless    gulfs    of 

space. 

But  one  was  wakeful,  one  who  lay  apart 
And  strove  to  pierce  with  melancholy  gaze 
The  heedless  clouds — Apollo.     At  his  side 
His  lyre  still  idle  lay.     No  breathless  tones 
Lured  fancies  to  the  eyes  of  them  that  slept, 
Or  woke  the  others'  musings.     By  himself 
He  lay  and  suffer'd,  anxious  for  the  dawn 
That  he  might  see  Marpessa,  and,  ere  night, 
Win  her  from  Idas  and  the  things  she  loved. 


HE  morning  dawn'd,  a  morn  of  joyous- 
ness, 

Of  blue,  bright  skies ;  a  morn  of  wonder 
ment 

So  breathless  that  the  ever-trilling  lark 
Outsung  itself  while  mounting,  flight  by  flight, 
To    where    all    space    seem'd    thirsty    for    its 

song. 

A  first,  faint  breeze,  fore-runner  of  the  winds 
That  soon  would  follow,  from  the  Caves  of  Pearl 
Where  homed  the  plaintive  echoes  of  the  deep 
Came  slowly  forth,  and  fill'd  the  airy  aisles 
With  sea-sweet  fragrance.     As  the  trees  awoke 
[25] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


They    trembled    slightly,    and    the    whisp'ring 

leaves 

Greeted  each  other  in  the  speech  that  is 
More  delicate  than  music.     Moveless  then, 
Like  virgins  at  the  hour  of  sacrifice, 
They  stood  and  waited  till  with  ruder  hands 
The  winds  should  touch  them,  sway  them  to  and 

fro 

In  wildest  dance,  and  leave  them  suddenly 
To    mourn    their    stripp'd    and   tatter'd   dra 
peries. 

And  while  a  silence  still  possess'd  the  air 
Save  for  the  dwindling  cadence  of  the  lark, 
To  where  the  steps  led  downward  Idas  came 
From  out  the  palace  with  his  shaggy  hounds. 
Marpessa  follow'd  with  his  trusted  spear 
And  bow  and  arrows ;  but  her  dragging  feet 
And  smileless  lips  betoken'd  she  was  sad 
This  golden  morning;  and  had  kept  him  there 
To  hear  the  first  sweet  prattle  of  their  babes 
Had  he  not  seem'd  so  eager  for  the  chase. 
But  when  she  laid  his  weapons  at  his  feet, 
And  raised  to  his  the  question  of  her  eyes, 
He  placed  his  arm  about  her,  and  his  touch 
Made  her  forget,  who  was  so  solely  his. 
"  Nay,  fear  not,  wife,"  he  said.     "  Ere  noon  is 

come 
The  hounds  shall  bay  before  the  welcome  gates, 

[26] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


And  call  thee  forth  to  greet  me.     Thou  shalt 

see 

My  shoulders  hid  beneath  the  hugest  skin 
That  made  a  bear  seem  fearful ;  but  thy  feet 
This  very  night,  when  o'er  thy  heavy  lids 
Sleep  draws  the  velvet  solace  of  his  plumes, 
Shall  tread  it  as  thou  goest  to  thy  couch 
To  dream  of  him  who  loves  thee."     "  Ah,"  said 

she, 

"  Who  goes  away  is  ever  free  of  care ; 
Who  stays  is  heavy-hearted.     Thou  and  I 
Are  one,  my  husband ;  when  thou  leavest  me, 
Though  the  blest  sunshine  trembles  in  my  hair, 
My  heart  becomes  the  darksome  lair  of  fear. 
I  love  thee,  Idas."     "  And  I  love  thee,  too," 
Her  husband  answer'd.     "  I  have  thought  of 

thee 

When,  call'd  in  Greece's  service,  I  have  dared 
The  swift,  unerring  dart  of  bitter  Death. 
Thy  love  has  kept  me  scathless,  and  thy  voice 
Has  whisper'd  me  in  hours  of  loneliness 
Such  words  as  gave  me  courage.     I  have  lived 
Since  first  I  loved  thee ;  and  I  love  thee  still, 
And  fain  would  live  to  win  for  thee  and  mine 
Fresh  honor  and  more  glory.     When  I  go 
To  fight  for  Greece,  thou  sayest  not  a  word ; 
Yet  now  I  go  to  bring  thee "     Then  he 

laugh'd 

[27] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


And  stroked  the  worry  from  her  low,  cool  brow ; 
Then  bade  her  note  how  eager  were  the  hounds 
To  prove  their  mettle.     And  she  clung  to  him 
And  look'd  at  him  in  silence.     Ah!  who  knows 
The  thoughts  behind  a  woman's  trustful  eyes, 
Or  senses  all  she  suffers?     Through  the  years 
We  take  without  a  question  all  she  gives, 
But  never  know  her.     Infancy  and  age 
Alike  depend  upon  her;  in  his  prime 
Man  strides  alone  to  learn  his  destiny; 
He  crowns  himself  whenever  he  succeeds, 
But  turns  to  her  for  comfort  when  he  fails. 
So   Idas   laugh'd   and  kiss'd  her.     "  Smile  on 


me," 


He  said  at  last,  his  weapons  in  his  hand ; 

"  That  when   I   venture  where  the  woods   are 

dark 

Thine  eyes  shall  light  me,  and  the  memory 
Of  thy  sweet  face  may  hearten  me  against 
What  odds  may  wait  me  in  the  monster's  cave." 
And  while  the  eager  dogs  leap'd  noisily, 
Or  whined  with  noses  pointed  to  the  woods, 
She  kiss'd  his  forehead ;  and  he  strode  away, 
The  dogs  beside  him  watchful  of  his  eye 
And  silent  now  as  he  was.     And  while  yet 
Marpessa's    hands    were    clasp'd    against    her 

heart, 

He  pass'd  within  the  menace  of  the  woods. 
[28] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


AND   while   her    darlings   slept,  two    pretty 
babes, 

All  pink  and  white  and  smiles  and  innocence, 
To  that  same  pool  beyond  the  garden's  walls 
Marpessa  went,  unfearing.     Now  the  woods 
Were  bright  with  promise,  for  the  tallest  trees 
Beheld  the  first  swift  lances  of  the  sun 
Glint  in  the  east,  and  drive  in  front  of  them 
The  last  doom'd  line  of  hesitating  grey. 
But   still   the   grass,   from   which  her    sandals 

brush'd 

Uncounted  dewdrops  mirroring  the  world, 
Was  cool  in  shadow,  and  the  leaves  were  wet 
As  if  the  fleeing  Night  had  wept  o'er  them. 
And  while  she  sped  beneath  the  whisp'ring  trees, 
From   glade  to  glade  where  now  the   startled 

hare 

Look'd  hurriedly  upon  her,  and  was  gone, 
She  thought  of  Idas.     Was  it  years  ago 
He  woo'd  and  won  her?     Or  but  y ester-morn 
She  said  she  loved  him?     For  it  seem'd  her  love 
Was  like  the  light,  the  golden  light  of  day, 
That  grew  each  moment  stronger;  scarce  she 

knew 

How  much  she  loved  him.     Ah !  the  gentle  trees 
That  bent  above  the  soil  in  sympathy 
Would  know  her  grief;  and  so  she  raised  to 

them 

[29] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Her  pleading  hands;  and  though  they  silent 

were, 

She  sensed  their  pity  and  was  comforted. 
But  ere  she  came  to  where  the  shaded  pool 
Invited  with  its  stillness,  in  her  path 
Stood  one  so  splendid  that  the  sun  itself 
Could    make    his    face    no    brighter.     Curling 

locks, 

That  gleam'd  above  a  forehead  marble-pale, 
Caught  the  descending  glory,  but  his  eyes 
Were  dark  with  mystery,  black  yet  terrible 
As  passion  is,  that  hungers  for  the  thing 
Beyond  the  fever'd  reaching  of  its  hand. 
But  though  his  face  was  flame,  the  form  of  him 
So  perfect  was,  so  chastely  wonderful, 
That,  awed  to  silence  and  astonishment, 
Marpessa  eyed  him  as  a  moment's  dream, 
Half-fearing  he  might  vanish.     Then  a  smile 
Caress'd  his  lips,  a  smile  so  luminous 
That  glory  seem'd  to  have  its  home  in  him, 
And  he  was  light  itself — light  radiant 
In,  of  all  forms,  the  form  most  beautiful. 
Now,  seeing  he  had  charm'd  her,  as  the  flame 
Ensnares  the  soft-wing'd  priestess  of  the  dark, 
He  spoke.     "Marpessa!"     Just  the  name  of 

her. 

But,  oh !  his  voice  was  as  the  voice  of  one 
Who  deems  his  love  for  evermore  removed 
[30] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


Beyond  the  bridgeless  gulfs  of  hopeless  death, 

Beyond  all  winning.     As  the  echoes  died 

The  silence  seem'd  suggestive  of  a  woe, 

So  heavily  it  lay  upon  the  soul 

Of  her  that  listen'd.     And  the  hand  of  her, 

While  still  she  faced  him  with  untroubled  eyes, 

Was  slowly  lifted  to  her  drooping  lips 

As  if  in  question.     But,  before  she  spoke, 

Again  Apollo  cried  that  airy  name, 

Again  it  echo'd  till  the  glade  was  fill'd. 

"  Marpessa !  "     Oh !  the  tenderness  of  it. 

And  then  he  held  his  hand  outstretch'd  to  her 

And  look'd  his  longing ;  but  as  yet  she  thought 

She  dream'd  by  daylight,  and  the  thing  would 

pass 

As  all  dreams  pass,  however  beautiful. 
And  still  his  beauty  charm'd  her,  and,  anon, 
The  air  contain'd  her  hesitating  hand 
And  heard  her  whisper :  "  Art  thou  Love  itself, 
Or  Beauty's  spirit?     Or  art  thou  a  man, 
And  made  of  that  same  perishable  stuff 
That  waits  for  death  to  ease  it  of  its  pain? 
Or  do  I  dream  and  think  thou  gleamest  there, 
While   naught's  around  me   save  the  list'ning 

trees 

And  shifting  sunlight?     If  a  man  thou  art, 
Whence  comest  thou  ?     What  hero-bearing  land 
May  claim  thy  service,  and  what  mother's  eyes 
[31] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Have  joy'd  above  thy  beauty?  "     Then  in  tones 

That  thrill'd  at  times  the  purest  silences 

Of  highest  heaven,  Apollo  answer'd  her: 

"  Man  am  I  not,  nor  subject  unto  death ; 

But  number'd  am  with  those  whose  gaze  serene 

Watches  the  world  from  heights  of  amethyst 

Where  sits  my  father.     I  am  he  that  hymns 

The  song  of  morning,  and,  when  even's  torch 

Reddens  the  west,  I  sing  the  requiem 

That  mourns  the  sun's  down-going.    I  am  he 

To  whom  the  Muses  listen,  and  the  stars 

Echo  the  songs  that  tremble  from  my  lips. 

My  mother  was  Latona."     While  he  spoke, 

A  startled  cry  escaped  Marpessa's  lips 

As,  fearing  now  his  presence,  she  essay'd 

To  ease  her  eyes  in  darkness  with  her  hand. 

And  still  was  silent.     "  Now  thou  knowest  me," 

The  god  continued,  and  his  voice  was  soft 

As  that  of  waves  on  sands  of  drowsy  isles. 

"  On  sapphire  morns  of  golden  joyousness 

Thy  lips  have  sung  my  praises ;  thou  hast  seen 

The  curling  incense  widen  in  its  rise 

To  circle  me  with  fragrance.     Drop  thy  hands 

That  I  may  see  the  beauty  of  thine  eyes, 

O  fair  Marpessa!"     Then  she  look'd  at  him, 

Unconscious      of     his      purpose.     "  Brightest 

god," 

She  whisper'd  faintly  as  she  lean'd  to  him ; 
[32] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


"  Thou  callest  me  Marpessa.     What  am  I 

That  thou,  in  accents  sweeter  than  the  wind 

On  eves  of  pearl,  shouldst  call  me  by  my  name? 

I  am  but  mortal,  and  no  more  to  thee 

Than  the  doom'd  flower  that  perishes  with  day." 

And  then  he  open'd  wide  his  gleaming  arms 

And  look'd  at  her,  as  he  had  often  look'd 

On  other  beauties  willing  to  be  won ; 

And  once  again  the  forest  heard  him  sigh : 

"  Marpessa  !  fair  Marpessa !  "     Then  at  last 

She  sensed   his   love,   and   straightway   shrank 

from  him 

As   from  a  thing  unclean  and  dangerous. 
But  he  continued  with  a  swifter  speech 
To  tell  his  passion.     "  Ah !  thou  knowest  now 
Why  thus  I  cry  '  Marpessa  ' !     As  I  gazed 
From  heaven's  bright  heights  and  saw  thee,  in 

my  heart 

Love's  sudden  torch  was  lighted.     Thee  I  love. 
Unearthly  splendors  woo  me  when  I  pass 
Those  ways  serene ;  the  nymphs'  white  loveliness 
Awaits  me  where  the  fern  nods  dreamily 
Its  acquiescence  to  the  wooing  wind. 
But  thou  art  fairer  than  the  whitest  nymph 
That  trembles  in  the  moonlight.     I  have  seen 
Thy  fated  beauty,  and  I  yearn  for  thee 
As  one  in  hell  may  hunger  for  the  light." 
But  closer  now  she  drew  her  purple  robe 

[as] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Across  her  breast.     "  Thou  lovest  hopelessly, 

0  flame-bright  god,"  she  said.     "  My  love  is  his 
Who  won  me  from  my  father,  who  has  spun 
His  golden  dreams  about  me  till  to  him 

1  seem  as  lovely  as  the  brightest  star. 
Two  babes  remind  us  of  our  mating  time, 
Of  days  when  yet  we  whisper'd  each  to  each 
The  pretty  nothings  that  to  lovers  are 
More  dear  than  all  the  wisdom  of  the  years. 
And  now  that  we  are  cooler,  side  by  side 
We  go  our  way,  believing  in  the  gods 

And  one  another,  fearless  of  the  end." 

But  now  Apollo  near'd  her.     "  Thee  and  thine 

One  end  awaits,  Marpessa.     Night  by  night 

The  silent  Boatman  bears  to  silent  shores 

The  voiceless  ghosts  of  lovers  such  as  ye. 

My  loves  become  immortal.     Time  nor  Change 

Can  touch  those  favor'd  of  the  deathless  gods. 

If  thou  wilt  love  me  thou  shalt  dwell  with  me 

In  everlasting  splendor,  and  be  praised 

By  men  yet  formless  in  the  Future's  womb." 

But    now    Marpessa    laugh'd.     "  Where    Idas 

goes, 

My  little  ones  must  follow,"  she  replied. 
"  Shall  I  forsake  them  in  that  bitter  place, 
And  leave  them  lonely?     Could  a  poet's  song 
Make  shame  less  shameful?     Oh!  thou  knowest 

not, 

[34] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


Bright  god  of  morning,  of  the  heart  that  is 
A  wife's  and  mother's.     Could  I  stay  with  thee 
And  hear  thee  singing  while  mine  own   were 

crouch'd 

In  misty  hell?     And  would  thy  kisses  make 
My  sorrow  for  their  desolation  less? 
Supreme  art  thou  and  very  beautiful ; 
But  though  thy  lips  have  quiver'd  with  the  song 
That  thrills  the  holy  cedars,  in  thy  heart 
Abides  no  love,  nor  aught  of  tenderness 
If  thus  thou  judgest  women."     And  again 
She  laugh'd  to  think  how  Idas  worship'd  her, 
And  how  she  loved  him.     But,  while  yet  sHe 

laugh'd, 

Apollo  seized  her.     "  Thou  art  mine,"  he  cried, 
And  press'd  his  burning  lips  upon  her  own. 
"  Thy  constancy  shall  vanish  as  the  dew 
Forsakes  its  love,  the  pallid  asphodel, 
When  sunbeams  woo  it.     When  I  sing  to  thee 
Thy  pulse  shall  quicken;  when  my  heart  shall 

beat 

Above  thine  own,  thine  eyes  shall  read  in  mine 
Such  dreams  as  force  forgetfulness  of  all 
Thy  former  dreamings.     Thou  shalt  love  me 

yet. 

Thy  hand  shall  yet  caress  me,  and  thy  lips 
Shall  cling  to  mine  until  all  space  shall  seem 
Too  tiny  for  our  swooning."     And  while  yet 
[35] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


The  forest  echo'd  with  her  bitter  cry, 

And  all  grew  dark  around  her,  in  his  arms 

Apollo  bore  his  burden  from  the  glade. 


IIS  listless  dogs  behind  him,  through  the 
woods 

'  Strode  Idas,  singing.     In  a  gloomy  spot, 
Where  never  satyr  sprawl'd  beneath  the  trees 
Or  teasing  fauns  dismay'd  the  restive  deer, 
The  lip-raised  bear  had  met  him.     Silently 
They  faced  each  other,  and  the  waiting  dogs 
Whined  to  attack  their  ancient  enemy. 
Then  from  his  bow  the  hunter  shot  a  shaft 
That  whizz'd  its  song  of  death,  and  in  the  throat 
Of  it,  the  hunted,  pitilessly  lodged. 
And  while  the  brown  brute  lunged  to  challenge 

them, 
The  dogs  sprang  forward;  but  the  bear  was 

quick, 

And  smote  with  thick  and  danger-dealing  paws 
Its  rash  tormentors.     One  as  suddenly 
Yelp'd  and  was  dead ;  and  then  a  second  shaft, 
By  Idas  sped  from  his  complaining  bow, 
Smote  the  huge  fury  in  its  shaggy  breast. 
And  now  it  gave  no  heed  to  snapping  jaws, 
But,  dripping  blood  from  not  ignoble  wounds, 

[36] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


O'erlook'd  the  baser  things  and  sought  the  man, 

Its  equal  in  the  forest.     With  a  roar 

That  cow'd  the  dogs,  the  bear,  uprear'd  and 

straight, 

Confronted  Idas.     But  the  spear  was  poised, 
The  spear  long  envied  of  the  Argonauts, 
And,  loosed,  it  travell'd  like  a  thunderbolt 
And  smote  the  bear  and  drove  him  back  again. 
Then  through  the  vast  and  bloody  cavity 
Pale   Death   rush'd  in   and   chill'd   its   mighty 

heart, 

And  closed  its  angry  eyes  against  the  woods. 
And  ere  the  hearten'd  dogs  could  worry  it 
The  noble  beast  crash'd  down,  and  was  as  still 
As  is  the  fell'd  tree,  slaughter'd  in  its  prime. 

BUT  when  he  reach'd  his  palace,  and  had  cast 
His    shoulder's    burden    on    the    gleaming 

stairs, 
Marpessa    did    not    greet    him.     Through   the 

halls 

He  strode  and  call'd  her,  but  his  children's  cries 
Apprised  him  she  was  absent.  Then  of  them 
That  eyed  him  mutely,  faithful  servitors 
Still  proud  to  serve,  he  ask'd  in  curtest  speech 
If  one  had  seen  her.  But  they  still  were  dumb 
And  shook  their  heads  while  looking  on  the 
ground. 

[37] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


And  though  they  search'd  the  palace,  cried  her 

name 

And  sought  the  gardens  over,  not  a  sign 
Of  lost  Marpessa  brought  the  seekers  joy. 
But  when,  at  fault,  they  turn'd  to  pray  the  gods 
Reveal  their  secret;  and  with  troubled  eyes 
Their  master  follow'd  them,  a  blind  old  hound 
Much  favor'd  of  Marpessa  bay'd  the  woods ; 
And  ever  sniffing  as  she  cross'd  the  grass 
Went  slowly  forward,  baying  as  she  went. 
Then  Idas  knew ;  and  shouting  to  the  slaves 
To  guard  his  children  as  they  would  their  lives, 
He  grasp'd  his  spear  and  follow'd.     Yard  by 

yard 

The  hound  went  on,  while  Idas  spoke  to  her, 
Impatient,  yet  all-grateful  for  her  aid. 
And  on  and  on,  beneath  the  self-same  pines 
That  saw  on  other  days  such  happenings 
As  he  might  find  delight  in ;  through  such  glades 
Where  Dian  heard  her  moon-enamor'd  maids 
Relate  the  day's  adventures;  how  the  deer 
Escaped  their  arrows,  or  a  drowsy  herd 
Gazed  at  their  limbs  with  unbelieving  eyes 
And  fell  asleep  again.     But  Idas'  thoughts 
Were  fix'd  on  his  Marpessa,  and  his  gaze 
Was  strain'd  upon  the  distance.     Bush  and  tree 
Seem'd  fraught  with  menace  to  the  one  he  loved, 
And  therefore  hateful ;  so  he  hurried  on 
[38] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


Behind   the   hound,   and   cheer'd  her  with  his 

voice. 
And  once  she  whined,  and  turn'd,  then  turn'd 

again 

And  bay'd  the  louder;  for  her  scent  was  keen 
Although  her  eyes  were  useless.     Overhead 
The  sun  had  cross'd  the  midline  of  the  sky, 
And  slanting  beams  now  fill'd  the  drowsy  woods 
With  afternoon's  still  glory;  bush  and  tree 
Alike  seem'd  golden,  and  a  golden  sheen 
Fell  on  the  upturn'd  faces  of  the  flowers. 
But  little  now  reck'd  Idas  of  the  hour, 
And  little  of  its  beauty.     Ah !  what  sight 
Might  blind   his   eyes   when   once   the   baying 

ceased 
That  now  seem'd  Hope's  own  music?     Had  the 

pool 

Forever  closed  above  her?     Or  would  she, 
With  lilies  far  less  white  and  delicate 
Stare   from  its  edge  with  fix'd  unseeing  eyes 
Upon  the  blue  above  them?     Then  he  thought 
Of  how  the  bear  had  almost  conquer'd  him, 
And  saw  her  bruised  and  mangled  in  the  fern. 
But  on  and  on  the  blind  hound,  baying,  went 
With  Idas  close  behind  her.     Nearing  now 
The  shadow'd  pool,  his  heart  grew  heavier; 
But  while  he  steel'd  himself  to  learn  the  fate 
Of  all  he  loved  and  cherish'd,  once  again 
[39] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


The  hound  stood  still  and  sniff'd  uneasily 
The  air  about  her.    Then  she  whined  and  slunk 
To  where  her  master  waited,  glooming  now, 
His  eyes  so  useless.     Then  again  she  sniff'd 
The  air  itself,  unmindful  of  the  grass, 
And  seem'd  at  fault ;  but  ever  from  the  pool 
Would  turn  her  head.     And  Idas  petted  her; 
But  though  she  knew  his  meaning,  on  the  grass 
She  lay  and  whined  with  fine,  uplifted  head, 
And  would  not  move.     Then  Idas  left  her  there 
To  seek  behind  the  bushes,  finding  naught, 
And  so  came  back,  and  watch'd  her.     Now  he 

knew 

That  she  was  borne  from  that  well-trodden  path 
That  cleft  the  forest  to  the  shelter'd  pool 
By  some  grim  enemy,  or  beast  or  man; 
And  while  his  hands  were  eager  to  bequeath 
Red  death  on  aught  that  held  her,  in  his  heart 
Her  face  alone  was  imaged,  only  hers. 
But  while  he  wonder'd  at  the  hound's  distress, 
And  bade  her  seek  and  find  again  the  scent, 
There  came  a  first,  faint  puff  of  perfumed  wind 
From  off  the  mountains,  and  the  hound  leap'd 

up 

Alert  and  silent;  then  she  sniff'd  again 
And  ever  grew  more  eager.     And  at  last, 
When  sure  she  seem'd  of  something,  something 

hid 

[40] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


From  Idas'  understanding,  through  the  woods 
Her    full-mouth'd    baying   boom'd.     Then    on 

again, 

With  head  erect  as  if  her  eyes  could  see, 
The  faithful  brute  proceeded;  ever  on 
Now  whining  and  now  baying.     And  behind 
Strode  eager  Idas,  firm-lipp'd,  resolute, 
And  hard  his  hand  embraced  his  trusted  spear. 

fTlHE  sun  was  setting  ere  he  came  on  them. 
A  While  yet  afar  Marpessa  heard  the  hound, 
And  cried  to  Idas,  knowing  he  was  near. 
And  he  had  leap'd  to  clasp  her,  calling  her 
In  tones  that  voiced  his  anguish,  asking  not 
Why  thus  he  found  her  with  the  god  of  song; 
But  scorning  him  and  hating.     But  the  god 
Still  kept  them  parted,  and  had  taunted  him 
With   mocking   words,   the   while    confronting 

him. 
"  Fly   hence  while  yet  thou  mayst,"   he   cried 

to  him. 
"  Thy  wife  is  mine.     Death  holds   his   shroud 

o'er  thee ; 

But  she  has  turn'd  her  glances  to  the  heights 
Where  I  abide  in  splendor.     Mine  she  is ; 
And  me  she  loves  for  my  immortal  song 
And  all  that  makes  me  god-like."     Hearing  him, 
It  seem'd  to  Idas  that  the  gods  had  rock'd 
[41  ] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


The  petty  world,  and  that  along  with  it 

He  totter'd  to  destruction.     In  his  ears, 

As  booming  seas  may  thunder  in  a  cave, 

A  roaring  menace  sounded,  and  he  clutch'd 

The  air  about  him  wildly,  giddily, 

And  could  not  speak ;  could  only  clutch  the  air, 

And  stare  at  her  whose  name  he  could  not  say 

Despite  his  heart's  deep  longing.     But  the  voice 

Of  pale  Marpessa  cried  across  the  dusk : 

"  I  love  thee,  Idas !     In  its  constancy 

My  heart  so  steep'd  is  that  it  laughs  at  death. 

The  wolf  will  better  rear  our  little  ones 

Than  this  bright  Splendor  who  has  threatened 

us; 

And,  rather  than  be  his,  and  dwell  in  light, 
I'd  feel  once  more  thy  lips  upon  mine  eyes, 
Hear  once  thy  voice  assure  me  of  thy  love, 
And,  with  thine  arm  about  me,  seek  the  mists." 
And  though  he  could  not  answer  her  as  yet, 
He  look'd  his  yearning,  stunn'd  and  impotent 
To  cry  his  grief,  but  longing  to  unite 
His  iron  hands  around  the  marble  throat 
Of  him  who  ever  eyed  him  with  disdain. 
And  still  Apollo  mock'd  him :  "  She  shall  sit 
With  me  in  glory,  and  shall  lean  to  me 
When  thou  art  long  forgotten.     At  her  feet 
I  heap  my  gifts  of  immortality 
And  love  eternal.     Go,  while  I  am  kind; 
[42] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


Thy  wife  my  love  is.     If  I  stare  at  thee 
Thy  days  are  ended."     And  again  she  cried, 
As  one  who  sees  her  loved  one  perishing: 
"  I  love  thee,  Idas,  who  art  all  to  me ;  " 
And  fain  had  touch'd  him  with  her  trembling 

hand, 
But  could  not.     And  while  yet  she  gazed  at 

him 

With  love  and  anguish  in  the  eyes  so  dear, 
He  found  his  speech  and  thunder'd :  "  God  thou 

art, 

But  foul  seducer  also.     In  the  woods 
Are  they  that  hate  thee — Isse,  Chione, 
And  Zephyrus,  whom  Hyacinthus  scorn'd. 
Despite  thy  splendor,  and  thy  gift  of  song, 
Loathsome  thou  art  to  things  of  purity, 
Defiler  and  vain  boaster.     In  the  skies 
Thy  station  is,  to  serve  the  Thunderer, 
Lest,    anger'd,    he    chastise    thee.     Sweet    thy 

hymns 

In  ears  that  still  are  strangers  to  the  songs 
Of  earth's  dear  birds.     The  while  thou  gleamest 

there 

Thou  art  a  menace,  and  the  foe  of  all 
That  makes  our  short-year'd  life  seem  bearable. 
I  hate  thee,  and  would  rid  the  woods  of  thee. 
Now  aid  thou  me,  great  Zeus,  a  simple  man, 
Yet  righteous  in  my  anger  and  my  love. 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Guide  thou  my  spear,  and  tip  its  point  with 

death 

That  I  may  slay  this  robber,  win  mine  own, 
And  bless  thee  for  thy  succor."     Swiftly  then 
He  hurl'd  the  dart,  but  slipp'd  and  saw  it  pierce 
An  oak  behind  Apollo.     And  the  god, 
Now  bright  with  anger,  tore  the  quiv'ring  shaft 
From  out  the  tree  and  posed  to  hurtle  it 
Against  defenceless  Idas.     Even  now 
The  mists  were  heavy  in  Marpessa's  eyes, 
And  she  was  praying  for  the  man  she  loved, 
When  lo !  the  shades  were  scatter'd.     In  their 

midst 

Stood  one  of  grave,  majestic  countenance, 
As  golden  as  Apollo,  but  serene 
And  conscious  of  his  power.     Then  to  the  earth 
The  spear  was  lower'd,  and  Marpessa's  hand 
Was  raised  in  supplication.     But  the  eyes 
Of  him  that  stood  there  were  the  eyes  of  one 
Who  awed  all  men  to  silence,  and  her  words 
Remain'd  unutter'd  in  her  anguish'd  breast. 
Then,  turning  first  to  where  Apollo  gleam'd, 
He  eyed  him  gravely.     "  Is  dissension  sweet,'1 
He  ask'd,  and  pointed  to  the  lower'd  spear, 
"  That  thus  ye  fight  when  from  the  western 

skies 

My  glory  is  departing?     From  the  soil 
Sweet  incense  rises,  and  the  trees  are  still'd 
[44] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


In  solemn  adoration.     Even  now 
The  stars  prepare  to  smile  upon  the  world, 
And  all  is  hush'd.     The  spear  is  in  thy  hand ; 
Thy  brow  is  anger'd.    I  await  thy  words." 
And  then  Apollo  storm'd.     "  The  maid  is  mine, 
I  love  her.     She  would  share "     But  Idas 

now 
Strode   hotly    forward.     "  O   great   Zeus,"   he 

cried, 

"  The  bright  god  lies  !     This  woman  is  my  wife, 
My  loved  Marpessa.     We  are  wed,  are  one. 
Thy  praise  we  sing  together,  and  our  babes 
Await  her  in  their  cradle.     She  is  mine." 
And  then  the  wroth  Apollo  f rown'd  at  him : 
"  If  I  but  speak  thou  fallest  at  my  feet, 
And  hell  shall  open  to  receive  thy  ghost. 
Who,  then,  art  thou  to  look  me  in  the  eyes 
And  say :  '  Thou  liest '  ?     I  can  harass  thee 
And  make  thy  days   a  torment.     Thou   shalt 

learn 

My  awful  vengeance ;  thou  shalt  cry  to  me 
As  Jason  cried  when  hurried  to  his  death." 
But  Idas  answer'd :  "  Nay,  I  fear  thee  not. 
A  man  I  am,  and  I  can  die  but  once. 
Death  has  for  me  no  terrors.     Could  I  hold 
Thy  gleaming  hair,  I'd  stand  erect  in  hell 
And  deem  my  life  well  ended  but  to  shout: 
'  Behold  "Apollo,  who  would  harm  my  wife ! ' 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


And  then  again  Apollo  raised  his  spear, 
But  Zeus  commanded  and  again  it  dropp'd. 
And  then  he  turn'd  to  where  Marpessa  stood, 
All  pale  and  trembling.     "  It  shall  rest  with 

thee 

To  choose  thy  lover,"  said  the  grave-eyed  god. 
"  But  ponder  well  before  thou  utterest 
Thy  heart's  desire.     Beneath  these  gentle  trees 
A  hero  claims  thee,  and  a  gleaming  god. 
To  each  thou  art  a  treasure,  but  to  one 
Thyself  thou  givest.     It  shall  rest  with  thee 
To  choose  thy  destiny — to  dwell  on  high 
Or  on  the  earth  that  is  a  part  of  thee. 
Who  loves  Apollo  must  be  sometimes  sad. 
The  song  that  trembles  on  his  crimson  lips 
Is  heard  by  many  and  of  many  loved. 
The  woods  are  his,  the  mountains.     Where  he 

goes 

All  hearts  adore  him,  but  he  passes  on 
To  other  conquests  and  to  other  loves. 
Apollo  says  he  loves  thee.     If  with  him 
Thou  goest  hence,  thou  shalt  immortal  be; 
Shalt  watch  the  birth  of  worlds,  the  vanishing 
Of  all  that  now  is  bright  and  wonderful. 
Beside  me  thou  shalt  sit  when  life  is  done. 
The  stars  shall  be  thy  children,  and  the  winds 
Shall  sing  thy  praises  ere  the  dusk  descends. 
And  if  thy  choice  be  Idas,  thou  shalt  know 

[46] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


The  even  bliss  of  mortals  and  their  griefs. 

The  dawn  shall  wake  thee,  and  the  night  shall 

bring 

Thy  head  unto  its  pillow  where  lies  his 
Who    shares   with   thee   thy   sorrow   and   thy 

joy- 

Thy  babes  will  love  thee,  but  shall  sometime  go 
Beyond  the  silent  longing  of  thine  eyes, 
Beyond  thy  hand's  caresses.     Even  he, 
Whose  hair  turns  whiter  while  thou  kissest  it, 
Must  go  at  last;  and  thou  must  follow  him, 
And  bid  farewell  to  light  and  all  that  made 
Thy  little  day  seem  perfect.     Being  gone 
Thou  soon  shalt  be  forgotten.     Few  are  they 
Whose  names  are  number'd  with  the  names  of 

stars ; 

Thy  little  pleasure  must  be  had  to-day. 
For  man  is  dust.     His  dreams  are  of  the  sky; 
But  all  the  toys  that  bring  him  happiness 
Lie  strewn  between  his  cradle  and  his  grave." 
And  while  he  spoke,  Marpessa  forward  lean'd 
As  if  to  choose;  but  with  commanding  eyes 
The  grave  god  held  her  while  he  spoke  again. 
"  Apollo's  hand  would  raise  thee  to  the  heights ; 
But  Sorrow's  face  in  airy  solitudes 
Is  not  unknown,  for  she  is  everywhere 
Where  hearts  may  beat.     She,  too,  will  follow 

thee 

[47] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


If  thou  with  Idas  goest.     At  her  knees 

Ye  both  must  kneel  when  that  dark  moment 

comes 
That  comes  alike  to  those  whom  Love  makes 

one 
And  those  whom  Love  ne'er  blesses.     Choose 

thou  now." 

And  while  Apollo  eyed  her  haughtily, 
Too  sure  of  conquest,  Idas  lean'd  to  her 
With  outstretch'd  arms,  still  hungry  for  her 

love 
And   fearful   she   might   leave   him.     But   his 

doubt 

Was  vain  and  idle,  as  a  man's  doubt  is — 
Who  learns  what  love  is  only  when  't  is  lost; 
For,  laughing  now,  Marpessa  ran  to  him, 
Heedless  of  bright  Apollo  or  of  Zeus, 
And  with  her  arms  close-twined  about  his  neck 
Cried:     "Idas!     O    my    Idas!"     Thus     they 

gazed 
In  eyes   where  tears  were   welling;   thus   they 

stood 

To  all  oblivious  save  their  happy  selves, 
And    said    no    word,    but    gazed,    and    gazed 

again. 

And  when  at  last  they  turn'd,  it  was  to  find 
The  gods  had  vanish'd  and  themselves  alone. 
Alone  they  stood  amid  the  leafy  peace, 
[48] 


IDAS  AND  MARPESSA 


Beneath    the    skies    where    now    gleam'd    won- 

drously 

The  blessed  star  of  Even ;  in  their  hearts 
The  love  that  cares  not  what  the  future  holds, 
Nor  ever  dreams  of  death ;  and  at  their  feet 
The  blind  old  hound,  awaiting  their  caress. 


[49] 


RHODANTHE 


RHODANTHE 

N  Ida's  slopes,  that  faced  the  gleaming 


forest  nymphs  were  gather'd.     On 

the  grass 

They  lay  and  gossip'd,  while  above  their  heads 
The  trees  sway'd  gently  in  the  constant  wind 
That  troubled  Ilium's  hot  and  endless  plain. 
Their  task  it  was,  and  well  it  suited  them 
Whose    fair   white   limbs   were   tireless    as   the 

deer's, 

To  follow  white  Diana.     When  the  sound 
Of  winding  horns  awoke  the  solitudes 
Of  mountain  crests  or  valleys,  like  a  flash 
They  pass'd  with  her,  their  Mistress;  in  the 

dusk 

They  hid  with  her  in  places  where  no  man 
Might  dare  to  follow,  places  consecrate 
[53] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


To  loveliness  and   rapture.     There   they  sang 

Such  songs  as  oft  the  solitary  hears 

On  nights  of  blue  and  silver,  songs  that  seem 

Like  whisp'ring  waters  or  the  sighs  of  leaves 

Lamenting  joyous  day's  impermanence. 

But    now    alone    they    gossip'd.     Where    She 

stray'd 
They    knew    not,    nor    might    question;    but, 

perhaps, 

If  over-long  the  mystery  puzzled  them, 
Pictured  a  dim  retreat  amid  the  fern, 
A  shepherd  woo'd  from  duty,  and  Herself 
Beside  him  list'ning  to  his  youthful  dreams. 
Where  lay  the  nymphs  the  grass  was  still  as 

cool 

As  when  the  sky  first  trembled,  and  the  Night 
In  silent  flight  look'd  backward  fearfully, 
Well  knowing  who  was  coming.     For  although 
The  sun  was  toiling  upward  steadily, 
And  all  was  hot  around  them,  curtain-like 
The  trees  were  arch'd  above  these  whisp'ring 

nymphs, 

Embow'ring  them  in  shadow.     At  their  feet 
A  little  stream  fuss'd  noisily  to  sea, 
Here  splashing  over  bowlders,  there  at  peace, 
And  everywhere  most  joyous.     Now  and  then 
A  maid  approach'd  it,  and  with  laughing  eyes 
Beheld  her  own  sweet  beauty  mirror'd  there; 
[54] 


RHODANTHE 


Or  cool'd  her  cheeks  and  dried  them  with  her 

hair, 

Wherein  the  wind  had  left  such  fragrances 
As  flowers  exhale  in  rivalry  with  trees; 
Or  quench'd  her  thirst  and,  turning,  took  her 

place 
Beside  the  one  whose  confidence  she  shared. 

NOW,  one  there  was  in  that  chaste  sisterhood 
Whose  face  so  fair  was  that  the  nymphs 
themselves 

Would  gaze  at  her  in  wonder ;  and  the  moths 
Whose   wings   disturb'd   the   breathlessness    of 

night, 
Would    pause    above   her,   thinking   they   had 

found 

A  strange,  new  flower  so  constant  to  the  'dark 
That  only  they  might  see  it.     She  was  one 
Whose  birth  the   sea  had  witness'd;  with  its 

blue 

Her  eyes  were  dower'd;  its  constant  restless 
ness 

Possess'd  her  heart  and  made  her  sometimes  sad 
And  sometimes  joyous.     But  the  face  of  her 
Was  perfect  ever,  and  as  luminous 
As  is  the  moon's  on  holy  nights  of  June. 
And  this  same  maid,  Rhodanthe,  on  a  day 
When,  clapping  hands  beneath  a  smiling  sun, 
[55] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


The   glinting   waves   raced   shoreward,   to   the 

sands 

Had  wander'd  idly.     Was  it  Fate  that  drew 
Her  white  feet  thither  from  the  forest's  shade, 
From   peace    and   green   seclusion?     For,    the 

while 
Her  eyes  dream'd  seaward,  and  herself  seem'd 

lost 

In  heaving  splendor,  foam-tipp'd  and  as  blue 
As  was  the  sky  above  her,  on  the  waves 
Up-borne    by   weeds    she    saw    a    white-brow'd 

youth 

Whose  eyes  were  closed  apparently  in  death. 
Half  couch'd  upon  the  mass  of  green-gold  weeds 
From  monstrous  gardens,  where  the  awful  swirl 
Of  dim,  deep  waters  sways  them  to  and  fro, 
And  rends   and   heaves   them  upward,  he  was 

borne 

Above  the  hungry  clamor  of  the  waves 
That  threaten'd  to  engulf  him.     And  the  nymph 
With  upraised  hands  call'd  loudly  to  the  gods 
To  save  so  fair  a  thing,  if  in  him  burn'd 
The  fickle  flame  that  warms  us  when  alive, 
And  leaps  away  so  suddenly  at  death. 
Then,  plunging  in,  she  swam  with  him  to  shore 
And  laid  the  body  on  the  warmer  sand 
And  rubb'd  it  till  the  eyes  ope'd  wearily; 
And  closed  again  before  the  black  of  them 
[56] 


RHODANTHE 


Inform'd  him  of  the  mercy  of  the  gods — 

Of  all  the  love  that  brooded  over  him. 

For  never  yet  had  pale  Rhodanthe  seen 

So  fair  a  thing  in  manhood.     From  afar 

The  nymph  had  eyed  the  shepherds  on  the  hills 

And  thought  them  pleasing  as  they  piped,  or 

sang 
When  dusk  aroused  their  longings.     Tall  they 

were 

And  strong  of  limb;  but  he,  above  whose  form 
Her  gaze    now  soften'd  was  a  youth  as  fair 
As  the  blown  foam  about  her,  and  his  hair 
Was  blacker  than  the  panoply  of  Night. 
And  while  she  touch'd  those  ivory  cheeks  of  his 
A  blush  suffused  them,  as  the  tides  of  life 
Flow'd  slowly  back  and  warm'd  them.     Then  he 

sigh'd. 
And   while   he   sigh'd,  with   fringed   eyes   still 

closed 

Against  Rhodanthe's  beauty,  to  his  mouth 
Her  lips  descended,  drawn  there  by  the  pain 
Those  lips  had  music'd.     But  he  knew  it  not, 
Being  as  one  who  was  not,  one  to  whom 
Life  is  as  nothing,  and  desire  of  life ; 
As  one  who  dreaming  not  is  fortunate. 
And  long  she  waited,  tending  him  the  while 
With  hands  so  eager  and  solicitous 
He  must  have  thrill'd  beneath  them,  eyeing  him 
[57] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


With  ardent  looks,  yet  modest;  half -afraid 
That  when  he  woke,  the  sea,  his  enemy, 
Would  lure  him  thence  and  leave  her  desolate. 
For  oft,  while  list'ning  to  the  whisper'd  tales 
Of  nymphs   at  sundown  while  she  bound  her 

hair, 

The  maid  had  wonder'd  why  Diana  frown'd 
To  hear  them  talk  of  shepherds,  and  of  loves 
In  silent,  leafy  places.     Like  as  not, 
If  still  they  whisper'd  of  forbidden  things, 
The  Goddess  bade  them  rise  and  follow  her 
From  glade  to  glade,  until  the  hopeless  moon 
Peep'd  through  its  fleecy  veil  and  bade  them 

sleep. 
And  sometimes  when  she  near'd  the  haunts  of 

men, 

While  shelter'd  by  the  olives,  she  had  seen 
A  youth  beside  a  maiden,  looking  not 
At  stars  or  flowers ;  but  ever,  hand  in  hand, 
Treading  the  path  with  eyes  that  gazed  in  eyes 
To  all  oblivious  save  the  loved  one  near. 
And  telling  this  to  them  that  question'd  her 
When  gleam'd  the  stars,  they  told  her  it  was 

love 

That  drew  the  twain  together ;  and  they  sigh'd, 
And  thought,  perhaps,   of  babes   that  should 

have  lain 
In  arms  where  naught  might  nestle,  and  of  lips 

[58] 


RHODANTHE 


Whose  warmth  might  bring  forgetfulness   of 

death. 

And  while  she  listen'd  to  the  idle  talk 
Of  nymphs  as  discontented  as  herself, 
Her  gaze  roved  elsewhere;  for  her  years  were 

few, 

And  love  to  her  was  still  a  mystery, 
Along  with  pale  Diana's  loveliness 
And  Pan's  inconstant  piping.     Blest  indeed 
Had  she  but  known  it.     Death  is  pitiless ; 
But  who  shall  say  that  Love  is  merciful 
While  hearts  still  suffer,  and  a  lover's  grief 
Might  draw  compassion  from  the  very  stones ! 

THE  day  still  golden  was  when  he  awoke 
And  look'd  at  her  in  wonder.     From  his 

side 
She  shrank  dismay'd,  and  drew  her  wind-blown 

hair 

About  her  bosom,  while  her  eyes  were  fix'd 
Upon  the  sands  beside  him.  But  he  lean'd 
And  touch'd  her  hand.  "  Oh!  who  art  thou?  " 

he  cried, 

In  tones  so  soft  it  seem'd  to  her  that  his 
No  voice  of  mortal  was,  but  of  a  god 
Who  soon  would  leave  her.  "  All  I  owe  to 

thee— 

The  air,  this  blessed  sunshine,  and  the  sight 
[59] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Of  thy  chaste  loveliness.     Oh!  who  art  thou? 
Perhaps  I  dream?     Perhaps  thou  art  a  thing 
As  frail  and  unsubstantial  as  the  mist 
That  mocks  me  on  the  waters  in  the  dawn? 
Perhaps — Yet  no.     Oh!  say  not  I  am  dead. 
Thy  flesh  is  warm ;  thy  cheeks  are  delicate 
As  is  the  wild-rose,  and  thy  gaze  is  kind. 
I  know  this  sea ;  this  wind  has  been  my  friend 
Since  erst  the  gentle  Hours  were  'ware  of  me— 
Oh!  tell  me  that  I  live,  and  who  thou  art." 
Then,  looking  up,  she  answer'd :  "  From  the  sea 
I  drew  thee  here,  O  thou,  most  beautiful, 
The  gods  had  envied  thee  thy  loveliness 
And  wish'd  thy  youth  to  grace  the  underworld, 
Where  heavy  Age  and  grey  Unhappiness 
Bemoan   the   vanish'd   day.     I  drew   thee  here 
And  won  thee  back  to  living.     In  the  woods 
I  am  the  nymph  Rhodanthe.     Night  and  day 
I  tend  Diana.     I — But  say  thy  name  " ; 
(And  now  she  whisper'd  in  her  eagerness) 
"  Oh !  let  me  hear  the  music  of  thy  name 
That  I  may  know  how  loveliness  is  call'd, 
And  sing  it  softly  when  the  stars  are  out, 
And  cedarn  fragrances  delight  the  woods 
But  make  me  conscious  of  my  loneliness." 
But  he,  who  eyed  her  still  as  though  she  were 
A  frail  white  flower,  new-risen  from  the  sands, 
Could  only  murmur  as  he  gazed  at  her: 

[60] 


RHODANTHE 


"  Rhodanthe !  "     And  if  thou  who  readest  this 
Hast  sadly  mused  o'er  one  name's  melody 
In  desolation's  slowly-creeping  hour, 
Thy  heart  shall  tell  thee  all  the  thoughts  of  him 
Who  eyed  that  little  maid  so  long  ago. 
"  Rhodanthe !  "     Oh !  the  tenderness  of  it. 
So  long  ago  it  was.     Yet  see  her  there, 
Awaken'd  love's  first  wonder  in  her  eyes 
And  love's  first  sorrow  shadowing  her  mouth — 
So  small  a  thing  when  measured  by  its  joy, 
So  drawn,  so  very  drawn  in  wistfulness. 
She  fears  him  not,  but  closer  leans  to  him 
With  hands  half-hidden  in  the  golden  sand, 
Unconscious  in  her  flower-like  innocence. 
And  while  he  whispers  yet  again  her  name, 
The  fickle  sea  that  erst  had  menaced  him 
Now  rolls  in  foamy  worship  at  her  feet 
And  charms  her  with  its  music.     And  at  last, 
When  he  had  said  that  pretty  name  of  hers 
In  all  love's  varied  accents,  and  her  sighs 
Recall'd  him  from  his  dreaming,  of  himself 
He  told  the  story.     "  Chromis  call  thou  me, 
The  son  of  Polyclea.     On  the  shore 
Not  far  from  Troy  my  hut  is,  and  each  morn 
Beneath  the  ghostly  draperies  of  the  mist 
I  drag  my  nets  upon  the  restless  sea 
For  daily  food.     When  I  was  but  a  babe 
The  waters  lured  my  father  to  his  death, 
[61  ] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


A  brother,  too ;  and  I  had  f ollow'd  them, 

This  very  day  had  sigh'd  where  now  they  sigh, 

But  thou,  Rhodanthe  of  the  lower'd  eyes 

And  wind-enamor'd  tresses,  savedst  me 

To  wonder  at  thy  beauty.     Chromis  holds 

No  note  of  magic;  if  thou  sayest  it 

The   stars   shall   note   me   and   the   gods    look 

down 

To  see  who  bears  a  name  so  musical." 
And  speaking  thus  he  touch'd  her  hand  again, 
Yet  ah !  so  tenderly.    And  she  look'd  up 
But  eyed  the  sea,  half-fearful  of  his  gaze, 
Though  dreaming  of  him  ever.     Then  again 
He    cried:     "Rhodanthe!"     And    the    winds 

withdrew 
That  Love's  swift  arrows  might  the  straighter 

%, 

For  so  the  gods  had  will'd  it.     Then  she  turn'd, 
And  look'd  at  him  who  on  his  bended  knees 
Beheld  no  more  the  glory  of  the  sea; 
Who  paid  no  heed  to  the  descending  sun 
Or  aught  that  was  around  him,  seeing  her 
Who    gleam'd   beside   him.     And   at   last    she 

spoke, 

And  sad  the  voice  was  of  the  little  maid : 
"  I  hear  thee  speak,  and  yet  I  hear  thee  not. 
Thy  voice  is  softer  than  the  call  at  night 
Of  dove  to  dove;  and,  hearing,  I  forget 
[62] 


RHODANTHE 


Each  treasur'd  word.     Oh !  say  my  name  again, 
For  never  yet  has  nymph  so  utter'd  it; 
And  though  Diana  loves  me,  and  has  bound 
These  wanton  tresses  with  her  own  cool  hands, 
Her  voice  is  stern.     Ah  !  say  my  name  again, 
And  I'll  say  thine.     O  Chromis,  say  my  name !  " 
And  now,  by  that  strange  law  that  ever  draws 
Inconsequential  stars  to  greater  suns, 
And  drift  upon  the  bosom  of  the  deep 
To  other  drift  of  greater  magnitude, 
So  these  two  children  of  the  woods  and  sea 
Were  drawn  together.     But  as  yet  they  sigh'd 
And  only  look'd  their  longing.     With  her  hand 
She  touch'd  the  locks  that  gloom'd  above  his 

brow, 
And  whisper'd :  "  Chromis  !  " ;  and  his  own  lay 

soft 

Upon  her  frail  cheek's  whiteness  as  he  cried: 
"Rhodanthe!    O  Rhodanthe ! '?    Then  she  sigh'd 
And  lean'd  away.     "  The  wind  in  leafless  trees 
No  sadder  than  thy  voice  is,"  she  replied. 
"  The  world  is  now  most  beautiful  to  me 
Because  the  utter'd  music  of  thy  name 
Has  made  me  think  of  Spring;  is  mine  so  sad 
That  thus  thou  sayest  it?     And  yet,  again, 
Oh !  say  '  Rhodanthe.'     Thou  hast  charmed  me 
And  taught  me  of  a  strange  and  honey'd  pain 
Whereof  I  suffer  when  thou  silent  art." 
[63] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


But  now  he  rose,  and  leaning  over  her, 
Press'd  her  head  backward  till  he  saw  her  eyes, 
Now  wet  with  tears.     "  O  tender  nymph,"  he 

cried, 

"  O  white  Rhodanthe  !     If  my  voice  is  sad 
Thine  eyes  are  sadder.     When  thou  worshipest 
The  laughing  Spring,  with  white  and  leaping 

lambs 

And  shy-eyed  flowers  and  fresh-apparell'd  trees, 
Are  thus  thy  blue  eyes  tear'd?  And  is  thy 

mouth, 

As  now  it  is,  a  bow  of  wistfulness?  " 
But  saying  naught,  she  only  closed  her  eyes 
Against  the  yearning  question  of  his  face, 
And  dream'd  in  darkness.     But  he  sensed  her 

dream 

And  kneel'd  again  beside  her.  And  the  while, 
Loosed  from  its  fringed  nest,  each  exiled  tear 
Dropp'd  to  its  doom,  his  arms  had  circled 

her 
And,  cheek  by  cheek,  they  thought  no  more  of 

time. 
"  Rhodanthe !  "  he  had  whisper'd.     "  Let  thine 

eyes 

Behold  my  worship.     Ah !  far  bluer  they 
Than  nodding  corn-flowers  or  the  hyacinths 
That  smell  the  sweetest  when  the  stars  are  out. 
Rhodanthe !     Thou  my  love  art."     As  he  spoke 
[64] 


RHODANTHE 


His  voice  became  a  whisper.     Overhead 
The  sky  was  now  as  soft  as  were  the  hearts 
That  beat  beneath  it,  for  Day's  chronicler 
Had  seen  the  crowning  of  Love's  purposes 
And  now  was  hasting  westward;   and  the  sea 
Had  ceased  its  azure  revelry,  and  lay 
Expectant  of  Night's  unimpassion'd  kiss. 
And  then,  as  Chromis  laid  upon  her  hair 
His  trembling  hand,  half-fearful  of  its  weight, 
And  sigh'd  his  longing,  to  his  lips  she  placed 
Her  low,  cool  brow,  and  said,  as  one  in  prayer  : 
"  I  love  thee  too,  O  Chromis.     Cherish  me  !  " 


A^D  fain  had  Chromis   borne  his  love  away 
When  dawn  peep'd  in  upon  their  resting 

place 
Of  shelt'ring  fern.     Throughout  one  fragrant 

night, 

They  dream'd,  as  lovers  may,  of  other  things 
Than  we  may  dream  of,  who  with  hopeless  eyes 
Await  To-morrow's  verdicts,  and  the  gifts 
Too  long  delay'd  to  prove  desirable. 
For  they  were  young;  and  then,  they  were  in 

love. 

And  though  the  sky  was  scintillant  with  stars, 
Each  eager  to  behold  them;  and  the  moon, 
Late  hasting  on  her  ever-hopeless  quest, 
Held  for  their  sakes  her  beauty  from  the  world, 
[65] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


And  seem'd  no  larger  than  a  silvern  leaf 
Upon  the  walks  of  heaven,  of  love  alone 
They  thought  that  first,  fleet  night  that  made 

them  one. 

But  when  the  birds  aroused  them,  and  the  light 
Reminded  of  Diana,  to  his  lips 
Rhodanthe  lean'd.     "  Beloved,  it  is  day," 
She  whisper' d  sadly,  "  and  the  woods  awake ; 
And  I  must  hence  before  She  seeks  for  me 
Among  my  sisters.     See!     I  kiss  thy  hair, 
And  place  my  hand  upon  thy  crimson  lips 
That  droop  in  sorrow.     Should  I  perish  now 
I  would  not  murmur;  for  my  memories 
Are  mine  forever,  and  the  mists  of  hell 
Would  seem  all-golden  while  I  dream'd  of  thee. 
Day  bids  me  leave  thee.     But  the  night  shall 

find 

Us  twain  together.     Oh !  I'll  come  to  thee 
Though  Styx's  waters  part  us ;  if  the  earth 
Were  strewn  about  with  crystal-pointed  stars 
I'd  pick  my  way  across  them  just  to  see 
Thy  dear  eyes'  welcome  and  thy  loveliness." 
Then  swiftly  upward  springing  she  was  gone, 
And  Chromis,  ere  he  knew  it,  was  alone. 


[66] 


RHODANTHE 


UT  Cos,  the  shepherd,  brown  and  sap 
ling-straight, 
Had  loved  Rhodanthe    since  he  startled 

her 

One  morning  on  the  uplands.     Where  the  winds 
Danced  wildest  on  the  grasses,  and  the  flowers 
Nodded  their  heads  to  airs  so  fanciful 
No  pipe  might  play  them,  with  her  teasing  hair 
The  nymph  was  busied.     So  she  saw    him  not, 
Who  stood  and  wonder'd  if  so  fair  a  thing 
Were  earth  or  sea-born,  or  if  he  but  dream'd 
Such  dreams  as  sometimes  haunt  one  in  the  day. 
And  when  at  last,  that  mad  hair  being  held 
In  sweet  subjection,  from  the  wind  she  turn'd 
To  loiter  woodsward,  on  his  oaken  staff 
She  saw  him  leaning,  and  had  straightway  fled 
Had  he  not  call'd  her.     Even  then  she  stood 
Alert  for  flight,  as  stands  the  fearful  fawn 
When  first  it  hears  the  menace  of  the  hound; 
But  when  he  spoke  she  eased  her  anxious  foot 
And  fear'd  him  not.     "  Oh !  loose  thy  golden 

hair," 
The  youth  had  cried.     "  No  eyes  save  mine  may 

see 

The  sunbeams  toss'd  and  tangled  by  the  wind. 
For  thou  a  goddess  art,  about  whose  brows 
Day's  glory  hovers,  and  the  brows  of  thee 

[67] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Are  chaste  as  is  the  azure  of  the  sea." 
And  she  to  tease  this  child  of  solitude, 
This  idler  in  the  sunshine,  laugh'd  at  him, 
And  gave  the  winds,  the  still  desirous  winds, 
Her  hair  to  wreak  their  will  on.     And  again 
They  rush'd  to  where  she  waited,  swaying  her 
As  they  might  sway  a  lily,  and  on  high 
Swirl'd  her  bright  hair  until  its  golden  sheen 
Seem'd  like  the  mist  whence  issue  new-born  suns. 
Then  Cos,  the  shepherd,  dropp'd  his  oaken  staff, 
But    could    not    voice    his    longings,    and    the 

nymph 

Had  danced  before  him  ;  and  while  yet  he  stood 
As  one  afraid  of  utter  loveliness, 
Had  turn'd  and  vanish'd,  laughing,  down  the 

glade. 


ATO  once  again  he  saw  her,  as  she  bent 
One  golden  morning,  o'er  a  daffodil, 
Expectant  of  Diana.     Through  the  pines 
He  spied  upon  her  beauty,  questioning 
If  aught  so  fair  would  ever  kneel  with  him 
Where  violets  breathed  sweet  fragrance  on  the 

air; 

Where  lilies  white  and  blue  forget-me-nots 
Whisper'd  their  dreams,  while  gaudy  crocuses 
Laugh'd  at  the  shy  and  pale  anemone. 
And  wond'ring  thus,  forgetful  of  his  sheep, 

[68] 


RHODANTHE 


The  shepherd  sigh'd,  a  sigh  so  pitiful 

It    seem'd    all    grief    was    homed    within    his 

heart. 

And,  half-afraid,  Rhodanthe  turn'd  to  him, 
But  laugh'd  as  suddenly.     "  O  silly  Cos  !  " 
She  cried  across  the  sunshine ;  "  I  can  see 
Thy  mournful  eyes  behind  the  veil  of  green; 
I  see  thy  wolf's  skin  and  thy  shepherd's  crook. 
O  gentle  Cos,  come  forth.     I  fear  thee  not." 
Then  Cos  came  forth,  but  slowly ;  and  remain'd 
Beside  the  trees  that  erst  had  shelter'd  him ; 
And  could  not  speak,  until  she  ask'd  of  him 
Why  thus  he  sigh'd.     "  The  morn  is  golden- 

wing'd, 

And  yet  thou  sighest.    Hast  thou  lost  thy  sheep 
That  thus  thy  cheek  is  hollow'd?     From  thy 

brow 
Care  drives  what  dreams  should  sit  there,  and 

thine  eyes 

Like  lanterns  are  that  hold  no  friendly  light." 
And  he  had  laid  his  shepherd's  staff  aside 
And  pull'd  a  reed  from  out  his  shaggy  pouch, 
Then  eyed  her  shyly.     "  In  the  woods,"  he  said, 
"  I  hear  sweet  music.     I  will  play  for  thee, 
Because  my  mood  is  sadder  than  thine  own, 
The  memories  of  autumn-sober'd  trees." 
But  while  he  play'd,  Rhodanthe  laugh'd  at  him. 
"  What  knowest  thou  of  forest  mysteries  ?  " 

[69] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


She   cried  to  him.     "  Thy  sheep  may  list  to 

thee; 

But  thou,  a  man,  art  dull-ear'd.     I  have  heard 
The  bud's  first  whisper'd  hopes;  the  songs  of 

leaves 

In  fullest  summer  when  the  air  was  bright 
With  golden  promise.     I  have  heard  their  sighs 
When  slowly  falling  to  the  lap  of  earth 
They  mourn'd  their  little  hour,  so  quickly  sped. 
And  I  have  seen  the  brown-robed  multitudes 
With  winter's  snows  upon  them,  still'd  at  last, 
And  dreaming  not  of  sorrows  nor  of  joys. 
Strange  things  I  know ;  but  thou  a  shepherd  art 
With  large,  deaf  ears,  and  eyes  that  nothing  see 
Except  thy  sheep.     Thy  limbs  are  brown  and 

strong; 

Thy  hair  is  wilder  than  a  Maenad's  song 
And  golden  as  Apollo's  in  the  dawn; 
Then  put  thy  pipe  away  and  tell  me  why 
Thy  cheek  so  hollow  is,  thine  eye  so  sad?  " 
And  he,  abash'd,  and  wounded  by  her  mirth, 
Had  play'd  no  more;  but  stood  with  wistful 

eyes 

Beside  the  laurels  that  had  shelter'd  him; 
And  gazed  at  her.     Thus  dies  a  singer's  song 
When  star-ward  soaring  in  his  eagerness 
The  singer  hears  the  earth-chain'd  mouthe  at 

him, 

[70] 


RHODANTHE 


Hating  his  flights  and  envious  of  the  song 
That  seeks  to  lead  them  upward  to  the  free. 
But  soon  he  spoke.     "  Thy  name  Rhodanthe  is. 
Last  night,  ere  yet  the  silver-horned  moon 
Slipp'd  from  her  low-swung  couch  to  climb  the 

skies 

And  count  her  stars,  I  wander'd  in  the  woods, 
Alone  and  heavy-hearted.     On  the  air 
I  heard  a  music  as  of  homing  bees, 
Each  moment  coming  nearer ;  to  the  sound 
I  strain'd  my  ear,  and  lo !  two  voices  then 
Were  born  of  that  sweet  humming.     In  the  fern 
I  threw  me  down,  and  scarce  each  startled  frond 
Resumed  its  calm  when  through  the  stilly  dusk 
Two   figures    flash'd.     And    one    of   them   was 

thine. 

But  ere  ye  vanish'd  I,  with  eager  eyes, 
And  beating  heart  and  eagle-winged   feet, 
Was  hasting  after,  fearless  of  the  thorns 
But  fearful  lest  a  stray,  embitter'd  twig 
Might  cry  my  presence  to  thy  tiny  ears. 
But  on  ye  sped,  oft  laughing;  and  at  last, 
When  almost  spent,  as  is  the  hound-heel'd  stag, 
I  thought  to  run  no  longer,  to  a  glade 
Ye    sudden    came   and   dropp'd   from    out   my 

sight." 

But  now  Rhodanthe,  who  had  heard  his  tale 
With  eyes  of  mirth  and  mischief,  cried  to  him 
[71] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Across  her  gather'd  daffodils :  "  O  Cos ! 

If  Pan  had  caught  thee  he  had  sent  lean  wolves 

To  harm  thy  sheep;  had  bound  thee  to  an  oak 

With  sappy  creepers  till  Diana  came 

And  chilPd  thy  pulses,  turning  thee  to  stone 

To  punish  thy  presumption."     But  the  youth 

Was    dreaming    now.     "  I    only    thought    of 

thee," 

He  almost  whisper'd.     "  Now,  most  fearfully, 
From  tree  to  tree  I  glided,  and  at  last 
Through  bushes  peeping  saw  such  loveliness 
As  stars  may  sing  of,  or  the  winds  describe 
When  gods  grow  weary.     Maids  so  beautiful 
Were  gather'd  there,  it  seem'd  the  Night  had 

lured 

Her  chastest  votaries  from  hidden  dells, 
Where  naught  beholds  them  save  the  things  that 

dream 

In  utter  stilliness  of  forest  loves." 
But  now  he  look'd  with  ardent  eyes  at  her, 
With    eyes    wherein   Hope's    eager    light    still 

burn'd 
And  longing  glisten'd.     "  On   the   grass,"  he 

sigh'd, 

"  Thy  sisters  lay  like  lilies ;  thou  alone 
Wert  kneeling,  and  the  blessed  face  of  thee 
Seem'd  like  a  wistful  star.     And  while  I  watch'd 
With  beating  heart,  one  call'd  thee  by  thy  name, 
[72] 


RHODANTHE 


And  all  the  trees  around  me,  e'en  the  leaves 

That  press'd  against  my  body  seem'd  to  cry: 

'  Rhodanthe ! '     And  while  yet  I  linger'd  there 

I  heard  afar  the  owl's  portentous  hoot 

That  tells  Diana's  coming;  ere  I  fled 

To  where  the  blackest  woods  might  hide  from 

me 

All  sights  except  my  pictured  dreams  of  thee, 
I  saw  her  face.     But  thine  is  lovelier !  " 
And  while  she  laugh'd,  and  hid  her  daffodils 
Beneath  her  golden  tresses,  he  advanced 
Still    pleading    dumbly    with    his    outstretch'd 

hands 

For  that  which  seems  to  youth  the  anodyne 
For  all  this  pain  of  living.     But  again 
The  nymph,  retreating  slowly,  laugh'd  at  him, 
Although  less  kindly.     "  Thou  hast  seen,"  she 

said, 

"  Such  things  as  are  forbidden,  silly  Cos. 
Hast  thou  not  heard  of  uncontrolled  men 
With  snowy  hair  belied  by  iron  limbs, 
Who  nothing  know  of  human  fellowship, 
But  live  alone  till  Death  shall  beckon  them? 
These  men  have  seen  Diana.     They  have  long'd 
For  things  beyond  them  as  the  wind  's  beyond 
Their  fingers'  idle  clutching.     Now  they  shock 
The  night  with  hollow  laughter,  or  dismay 
The  bloodless  snake  with  eyes  that  never  close; 
[73] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


They  wake  the  woods  with  hard  and  hollow 

song, 

Or  whisper  vainly  to  the  tree  and  star. 
O  silly  Cos,  thy  secret  lies  with  me ; 
But  go  thou  now,  and  let  thy  gentle  eyes 
Find  otherwheres  their  pleasure.     When  thou 

canst, 

Forget  Rhodanthe.     On  his  moveless  back 
Old  Atlas  bears  the  burden  of  the  world ; 
But  naught  so  heavy  is  as  hopeless  love — 
And  thou  art  but  a  shepherd."     Then  she  fled. 

BUT    Cos   stay'd   on  beneath  the   self-same 
pines 
That   erst  had  heard  her  laughter.     On   the 

sward 
He   crouch'd   and  brooded,   dreaming   still    of 

her — 

As  Night  may  dream  of  her  evanish'd  Day, 
As  hopeless  men  still  dream  of  what  is  lost. 
It  almost  seem'd  she  stood  there,  slimly  white 
Amid  the  leafy  hush,  and  lily-straight; 
Upon  her  breast  the  envied  daffodils, 
Shelter'd  from  truant  breezes  by  her  hair; 
A  maid  in  whom  a  god  might  find  delight; 
Whose  presence  lent  a  beauty  to  a  world 
Already  lovely  but  already  sad. 
But  e'en  as  dropp'd  the  unconcerned  sun 

[74] 


RHODANTHE 


Behind  the  purple  mountains,  and  the  skies 

Turn'd  ever  blacker,  so  the  loveliness 

Of  life  became  illusion  unto  Cos 

And  all  his  thoughts  the  thoughts  of  blighted 

trees. 

And  still  he  crouch'd  there  like  a  thing  of  stone 
Until  all  love  had  died  within  his  heart 
And  his  the  torment  was  of  one  in  hell. 
And  brooding  thus  there  grew  in  him  a  hate 
Of  all  fair  things,  of  life,  of  love  itself, 
And  even  of  Rhodanthe.     In  the  dark 
He  crouch'd  and  gloom'd  the  while  the  Hours 

pass'd 

Above  his  awful  silence;  and  at  last 
When  Dawn  was  come,  sprang  quickly  to  his 

feet, 
Storm'd    at    the    grey    with    horror-clutching 

hands 

And  call'd  the  curses  of  the  gods  on  her. 
Then  through  the  woods  he  stumbled,  noting 

not 

The  pensive  ferns  or  that  embroidery 
With  which  the  soil  is  cover'd,  color'd  leaves 
And  modest  creepers,  and  the  woodsy  blooms 
With  eyes  still  closed  against  morn's  joyous- 
ness. 

For  now  it  seem'd  a  more  Titanic  load 
Than  ever  Atlas  shoulder'd  for  his  pride 
[75] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Now  bore  him  down.     If  wedged  with  meteors, 
Cool'd   constellations   and  all  cosmic  dust, 
The  heavy  world  in  star-high  balances 
Be  weigh'd   against   one   woe-cramm'd   human 

heart, 

That  heart  will  swing  those  others  to  the  skies 
And  crack  the  scales  in  falling.     Through  the 

woods 

He  blindly  stumbled,  sometimes  cursing  her 
Whose  laughter  he  remember'd,  whose  rebuke 
Seem'd  hot  as  flame  around  him ;  even  now, 
Though  she  was  gone,  and  all  alone  he  was 
Save  for  the  silent,  mirthless  ministrants 
That  sniff  the  steps  of  Madness  and  Despair. 

A«JD    though     from    dawn    till    dusk    Rho- 
danthe  flash'd 

With  white  Diana  through  the  greenery, 
Stopping  at  times  when  lured  by  Pan's  sweet 

pipes 

Or  when  the  Huntress  bade  her  maidens  rest, 
Night  found  her  with  her  lover.     In  the  woods 
Are  silent  places  where  a  whisper'd  tale 
Sounds  sweeter  far  than  music ;  glades  and  dells 
Wherein  a  constant  bird  may  mourn  its  mate 
With  song  that  wakes  our  saddest  memories 
And   hints   its    kinship   with   us.     These   they 
knew, 

[76] 


RHODANTHE 


And  hid  there,  heedless  of  the  peeping  stars, 
Or  roving  winds;  for  stars  and  roving  winds 
Are  lovers'  friends,  and  mourn  eternally 
The  hopes  that  are  as  fated  as  the  leaves. 
But  what  knows  Youth  of  Fate?     The  very  bird 
Whose  heart  is  broken  is  a  feather'd  joy 
To  him  whose  heart  is  whole  with  happiness ; 
An  envied  thing,  at  liberty  to  soar 
In  wide,  blue  fields  of  freedom.     And  the  winds, 
Whose  mournful  voices  to  our  duller  ears 
Remind  of  what  is  over,  unto  her 
Whose  eyes  dream  upward  sing  of  things  to  be. 
And  though  the  woods  were  ever  beautiful 
To  Chromis  and  Rhodanthe,  in  themselves 
Abode  the  charm  that  ever  lured  their  eyes 
To  one  another.     As  he  lean'd  to  her, 
Such   words   he  murmur'd  as   can   change   the 

night 

To  the  blest  dusk  of  lovers.     "  On  thy  cheeks 
I  see  thy  mournful  lashes,"  he  had  said. 
"  So  fair  thy  face,  they  lie  there  in  dark  peace, 
Bearing  thy  white  lids  downward.     Look  at  me, 

0  sweet  Rhodanthe,  for  they  rest  too  long — 

1  envy  e'en  thy  lashes !  "     But  her  hands 

Now  clasp'd  his  face,  and  she  no  more  look'd 

down. 
"  Though    closed    mine    eyes,"    she    whisper'd, 

"  thee  I  see, 

[77   ] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Beloved  Chromis.     Thou  art  everywhere 
Because  thy  face  is  pictured  in  my  heart 
Since  first  I  saw  thee.     When  Diana  calls 
In  the  cool  hush  of  morning,  by  my  side 
Thou  treadest  lightly ;  though  I  follow  fast 
Her  horn's  defiance  to  the  hidden  boar, 
Thou  runnest  with  me.     Once  I  look'd  behind, 
Expectant  of  thy  presence.     Fickle  one, 
I  see  thee  ever,  though  mine  eyes  be  closed." 
And  he  was  happy.     "  In  the  dawn,"  he  said, 
"  I  sing  new  songs.     The  sea  reminds  of  thee. 
Thine  eyes  have  languish'd  in  the  happy  waves, 
Bequeathing  them  their  color.     White  the  foam 
As  is  thy  moon-bright  body,  and  at  times 
My  lilting  boat  is  mesh'd  in  wondrous  weeds 
That  gleam  as  does  thy  sun-enamor'd  hair. 
Should  aught  befall  to  sunder  thee  from  me, 
I  could  not  live,  Rhodanthe.     From  the  skies 
The  stars  might  lean  at  Even  breathlessly, 
And  lilies  upward  gaze  expectantly; 
But  never  more  would  song  of  mine  disturb 
The  drowsy  calm  between  the  flower  and  star 
If  I  no  more  possess'd  thee.     Speak  to  me !  " 
"Thou  wouldst  but  sing  the  better,"  she  re 
plied. 

;<  Thy  song  would  tell  the  world  thy  constancy, 
And  many  men  would  love  thee.     In  thy  heart 
Thy  love  would  turn  to  sympathy  and  song; 
[78] 


RHODANTHE 


And  though  a  sorrow  linger'd  in  thine  eyes 
Thy  love  would  keep  thee  straight  as  is  the  fir, 
And  ever  fragrant.     Ah!  When  I  am  gone — " 
But  while  she  spoke  he  kiss'd  her,  silencing 
Her  drooping  lips  before  the  night  was  told 
The  woe  she  presaged.     "  Thou  art  all  to  me," 
He  breathed  upon  their  crimson.     "  From  the 

woods 
I  soon  shall  take  thee.     Thou  shalt  come  with 

me 

To  where  my  seaward-looking  hut  awaits 
Its  perfect  mistress.     There  no  drunken  Pan, 
No  stern  Diana  with  the  chilling  eyes, 
Can  ever  find  thee.     Thou  shalt  sing  to  me 
And  whisper  of  the  one  that  is  to  be 
While,  mending  nets,  I  kneel  as  now  I  kneel 
Beside  thee,  sweet  Rhodanthe."     And  again 
He  kiss'd  and  kiss'd  her,  till  her  cheeks,  erst 

pale, 

Were  warm  as  summer's  roses ;  but  her  eyes, 
That  gazed  beyond  him,  seeing  but  the  dark, 
Unknown  to  him  were  sadder  than  before. 
And  when  she  spoke  it  was  as  one  who  is 
Too  wise  to  be  quite  happy.     "  Thou  and  I  " — 
And  oh!  how  now  her  eyes  were  fix'd  on  him — 
"  Are  but  the  playthings  of  the  older  gods. 
With  them  it  rests  to  say  what  things  shall  be 
Beyond  the  moment.     Kiss  me,  my  Belov'd, 
[79] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


And  in  thine  arms'  sure  haven  gather  me. 
I  love  thee  well ;  but  thou  and  I  must  bow 
To  them  that  sit  in  judgment.     Even  now 
Perhaps  they  mock  us,  and  bid  Death  prepare 
The  bitter  cup  that  cures  all  mortal  ills, 
But  ends  what  joys  we  gather  as  we  pass." 
Then  close  she  nestled  to  the  lad  she  loved. 
And  he  close  held  her,  sighing  in  her  ear 
Such  words  as  lovers  utter  while  the  world 
Rolls  on  its  course  unheeding;  while  the  Hours 
Ail-swiftly  pass,  and  while  the  air  is  fill'd 
With  shimm'ring  music,  as  of  wings  unseen, 
Or  faintest  waves  on  far,  uncharted  shores. 

O    HALF-HEARD  silences  of  holy  Night, 
Suggestive  and  appealing!     Idle  lie 
Day's  golden  shawms  that  blare  in  wearied  ears 
Insistent  paeans  for  the  conquerors 
Of  stern  and  hard-eyed  Fate ;  and  silent  are 
The  herald  trumpets  of  the  scornful  sun. 
From  airy  heights  ye  tremble  over  us, 
From  heights  wherein  the  unpretentious  moon 
Whispers  pale  prayer  above  all  things  that  are, 
Above  all  things  that  slumber  while  they  pass 
The  common  way  and  wait  the  common  doom. 
Your    toneless    music    soothes    the    anguish'd 

heart 

Of  hopeless  love;  like  benediction's  calm 
[80] 


RHODANTHE 


It  falls  upon  earth's  lovers,  as  they  search 
The  starry  fields  of  promise  over  them; 
It  stills  the  voice  of  protest,  and  of  grief. 
O  half  -heard  silences  of  holy  Night, 
Suggestive  and  appealing!     From  the  skies 
Drift,  drift  to  us  forever.     Fill  our  hearts 
With  that  sweet  peace  whereof  the  ancient  trees 
Have  fullest  understanding;  in  our  ears 
Whisper  the  soft  and  blessed  harmonies 
The   fearless   flowers   rejoice  in.     Then   when 

flares 

The  crimson  fire  along  the  waken'd  East, 
And  paling  stars  with  backward  glances  go 
Beyond  our  eyes'  vain  searching,  we  shall  be 
As  men  whose  souls  made  strong  by  olden  song 
May  bear  To-day  ;  as  men  who  having  heard 
Imperious  music,  feel  that  they  are  gods, 
And  go  their  way  rejoicing,  scorning  death. 


A^D   when    their   chosen    bower    seem'd   all 
a-shine 
With   filter'd   moonlight,    and    the    slumb'ring 

blooms 

Exhaled  their  faint,  illusive  fragrances, 
On  fern-hid  elbows  Chromis  raised  himself 
And  eyed  the  nymph,  now  utterly  asleep. 
And  watching  her  he  thought  of  how  men  said 
Love's  Goddess  was  of  all  things  beautiful 
[81] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


The  one  most  lovely ;  but  beholding  now 
The  maid  beside  him,  still  and  marbly-white, 
Shook  his  dark  locks  above  her  and  was  glad. 
Upon  her  arm  her  perfect  head  reclined, 
Her  golden  tresses  coil'd  above  a  face 
So  fair,  so  fond,  and  yet  so  innocent 
That  he  grew  fearful  lest  he  only  dream'd, 
So  bent  and  kiss'd  her.     And  while  yet  his  lips 
Lay  warm  on  hers,  like  rose  on  willing  rose, 
She  ope'd  her  eyes  and  drew  him  down  to  her 
While  murmurs  proved  love's  sweet  reality. 
"  I  dream'd  of  thee,"  she  whisper'dr     "  Thou 

and  I 

On  such  an  island  that  from  milky  cliffs 
Rises  all  green  and  golden,  palm'd  and  still 
As  the  warm  sea  around  it,  lived  and  loved. 
Unheeded  by  and  heedless  of  grey  Time. 
No  chilling  eyes,  our  kisses  envying, 
There  chill'd  our  ardor;  there  no  eager  ears 
Lean'd  to  our  broken  whispers;  and  the  while 
On  morns  of  gold  or  eves  of  violet 
We  told  our  dreams,  the  air  no  echoes  bore 
Of  iron  laughter  or  of  hopeless  mirth. 
And  much  we  learn'd  of  lambs,  and  gentle  ewes 
And  the  dear  stars  above  us ;  and  at  last, 
Grown  old  together,  we  prepared  to  sleep, 
As  trees  prepare  when  hoary  Winter  blows 
Ionian  dirges  on  his  sombre  pipes." 
[82] 


RHODANTHE 


"  I,  too,  have  dream'd,"  the  youth  said  tenderly. 
"  My  dreams  were  such  as  men,  despite  day's 

glare, 

May  dream  with  open  eyes.     On  no  such  isle 
As  thy  sweet  fancy  painted  did  we  dwell, 
But  yonder  where  the  sea  beats  noisily 
By  night  and  day.     The  woods  have  frighten'd 

thee, 

0  sweet  Rhodanthe,  with  their  stilliness 
That  hints  of  death;  the  pale  anemones 
Are  fearful  of  Diana,  and  the  winds 
Moan  in  the  pines  because  she  never  loves. 
But  yonder — thou  canst  see  them  through  the 

trees — 

My  golden  sands  await  thee.     Never  there 
Comes  stern  Diana;  but  if  thou  wouldst  hear, 
Grown  weary  of  the  thunder  of  the  sea, 
Pan's  lesser  music,  I  will  bring  thee  here, 
And,    hidden,    thou    shalt    hear    it.     Thus    I 

dream'd 

The  while  I  watch'd  thee."     "  Thou  art  beau 
tiful," 

The  nymph  replied,  and  drew  him  close  to  her. 
"  All  else  forget  except  that  thou  and  I 
Are  now  together.     If  the  trees  could  tell 
How  oft  I  cry  thy  name,  thy  heart  would  grieve 
For  poor  Rhodanthe,  who,  though  loving  thee, 
Must  sorrow  ever."     And  the  youth  was  still 
[83] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


As  was  the  night  about  them,  knowing  not 
Why  thus  she  grieved,  or  why,  though  loving 

him, 

The  woods  still  kept  his  loved  one  from  his  arms. 
"  Thine    eyes    are    wet,    Beloved ! "     Chromis 

sigh'd ; 

"  Upon  thy  cheek  I  see  the  fallen  tear 
That  tells  a  sorrow  thou  wouldst  hide  from  me. 
Thy  voice  is  sadder  than  the  hopeless  note 
Of  the  lone  bird  above  us.     For  its  mate 
It  mourns  and  mourns;  but  I  am  close  to  thee 
To  whisper  of  To-morrow,  of  the  years 
That  wait  us  with  bright  gifts  and  happiness." 
Then  closer  still  Rhodanthe  clung  to  him. 
"  To-morrow  is  this  moment's  enemy, 
Sweet  Chromis,"  she  had  answer'd.     "  Ere  the 

moon 

Enters  her  eastern  wicket,  thou  and  I 
May  hear  no  more  the  bird's  sad  melody, 
Or  with  slow  kisses  kindle  into  flame 
Our  willing  passion.     When  the  dawn  is  come, 
Amid  wrhat  greyness  may  our  whispers  sound, 
While  the  bright  gods,  who  send  us  to  our  doom, 
Forget  that  we  existed."     But  the  youth 
Now  kiss'd  her  eyes.     "  I  only  think  of  thee 
And  of  thy  tender  beauty,"  whisper'd  he. 
"  The  Now  and  the  To-morrow  are  as  one ; 
And  Time  is  but  a  phantom  when  with  thine 
[84] 


RHODANTHE 


My  kisses  mingle.     But  the  gods  are  good, 

Else  had  I  sunk  to  silence  and  despair 

That  golden   day  which  brought  thee  to  my 

arms." 

"  E'en  now  I  hear  that  first,  low  sigh  of  thine," 
Rhodanthe  murmur'd.     "  On  mine  ear  it  fell 
Like  faintest  music,  and  my  heart  awoke 
Before  thine  eyes  were  open'd  to  the  world." 
"  Thy  love  it  was  that  lured  me  back,"  he  cried ; 
"  My  undecided  spirit  saw  thy  face, 
And  so  I  lived."     "  Then  love  me,"  she  replied ; 
"  Ah !  dream  not  of  To-morrow.     Love  me  now. 
The  Hours  are  full  of  menace ;  trust  them  not. 
If  sad  I  seem  the  while  in  thine  embrace, 
Or  if  I  weep  a  little,  pay  no  heed, 
But  love  me,  love  me  ever.     Who  shall  say 
Why  woman's  love  is  mainly  mystery, 
While  man's  is  only  passion?     Love  me,  then. 
Beneath  this  couch  of  asphodel  and  fern 
What  hopeless  ones  may  wander,  unto  whom 
No  joy  descends,  no  whispers  warm  as  wine, 
No  murmurs  of  love's  happy  discontent. 
Already  elsewhere,  Chromis,  it  is  light, 
And  Day  no  friend  is  of  unhappy  loves. 
Too  soon  the  woods  shall  waken.     Thou  shalt 

hear, 

While  yet  thou  sailest  seaward,  winding  horns, 
Affrighted  cries,  shrill  laughter,  and  the  noise 

[  85  ] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Of  red-mouth'd  hounds;  but  I,  with  flying  feet 
And  heavy  heart  must  follow  where  She  leads, 
Nor  ever  hope  to  hear  thy  voice  again." 
But  Chromis  dream'd  above  her.     "With  the 

night 

Thy  feet  shall  lead  thee  hither,  where  I'll  wait 
With  strained  gaze  thy  gleaming  through  the 

dusk. 

The  frighted  birds,  while  yet  thou  art  afar, 
Shall  sing :  '  She  comes.'     The  winds  shall  bear 

to  me 

Thy  hair's  rare  fragrance ;  and,  when  overhead 
The  unimpassion'd  moon  on  this  sweet  bower 
Looks  mildly  down,  thy  sighs  shall  mix  with 

mine 

And  naught  shall  be  remember'd  but  our  love." 
And  then  they  kiss'd ;  and  she  forgot  a  while, 
As  lovers  may,  the  envy  of  the  gods 
And  Fate's  fell  purpose ;  and  the  ruthlessness 
That  makes  men  eager  for  the  end,  and  night. 


AJD   one    still  dawn,    when   from    the  self 
same  bower 

Rhodanthe  slipp'd  to  seek  the  other  maids 
Before  Diana  call'd  them;  while  the  woods 
So  silent  were  she  heard  her  heart's  quick  beat 
[86] 


RHODANTHE 


Whene'er  she  stopp'd,  half-fearful,  at  her  feet 
There  fell  a  grey,  wild  pigeon,  wounded  sore 
And  near  to  death.     And  wond'ring  who  would 

slay 

So  soft  a  thing,  she  stoop'd  and  lifted  it 
From  where  it  lay  upon  the  dew-cool  grass. 
"  Poor  bird,"  she  said,  "  thy  mate  now  waits 

for  thee 

Within  her  wind-rock'd  nest ;  but  all  alone 
The  risen  moon  shall  find  her.     Through  the 

dusk 

Her  eyes  shall  peer,  but  thou  shalt  never  hear 
That  low,  sad  cry  of  hers,  nor  shall  she  learn 
Why  never  thou  repliest."     Then  against 
Her  bosom  once  she  held  it,  where  it  gasp'd, 
And  suddenly  was  still.     Then  looking  up, 
With    eyes    that    match'd    the    sorrow    of   her 

mouth, 

She  saw  the  shepherd  Cos  awaiting  her, 
And  started  back.  Upon  his  matted  hair 
Strange  weeds  were  heap'd  in  semblance  of  a 

crown, 

And  flame  disturb'd  the  peace  of  his  mild  eyes 
And  made  their  gaze  appalling.     Slowly  then, 
With  arms  upraised  and  brows  of  inward  storm, 
He  moved  upon  her.     "  Merope !  "  he  cried, 
"  Lost  star  of  heaven !     In  dream  last  night  it 

seem'd 

[87] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


I  heard  Orion  thunder  thou  wert  dead 

And  lost  to  us  forever."     And  the  nymph 

Had  drawn  away,  dismay'd  and  terrified. 

" 1  know  her  not,"  she  whisper'd.     "  I  am  she 

Whose  face  once  pleased  thee;  thou  hast  soon 

forgot 
Rhodanthe!     Let    me    pass    thee."     But    the 

youth 
Laugh'd  mirthlessly,  advancing.     "  Thou,"  he 

cried, 
"  That  Pleiad  art  for  which  the  heavens  have 

cast 

Their  nets  of  silver  on  impassion'd  nights, 
Yet  ever  vainly.     Years  I  search  for  thee. 
From   Proserpine's    grey   gardens,   thick   with 

griefs, 

I  have  flown  upward  to  the  whirling  stars 
And  sought  thee  on  bright  highways;  I  have 

sail'd 

Wide,  restless  seas ;  have  stagger'd  under  them 
With  all  their  heavy  hate  upon  my  back 
And  menaced  by  more  awful  things  than  ghosts. 
And  ever  crying  *  Merope ! '     I  braved 
The  crack'd  abysms  of  the  Caucasus 
Where  Harpies  hide  by  daylight.     But  of  thee 
No   trace   I   gather'd.     Yet — "    (and   now   he 

press'd 

His  heart,  and  gazed  about  him)  "  yet  it  seems 
[88] 


RHODANTHE 


That  long  ago,  while  yet  the  stars  were  young 
And  we  could  hear  their  singing,  thou  and  I 
Were  met  amid  such  leafery  as  this." 
But  now  Rhodanthe  stopp'd,  and  cried  to  him, 
Grown  fearful  of  his  madness :  "  Cos !  dear  Cos ! 
Thou  art  an  idle  shepherd.     In  the  woods 
Thy  sheep  will  wander  if  thou  hastest  not 
To  lead  them  to  the  uplands.     I  am  she 
Who   teased   thee   once — Rhodanthe.     See  my 

hair! 

It  gleams  to-day  as  when  I  danced  for  thee 
And  left  thee  longing  for  forbidden  things." 
But  Cos  had  f  rown'd  at  her  the  while  she  spoke. 
"  This  morning's  star  acclaim'd  me  Sisyphus, 
Thy  lord  and  master.     On  my  head  I  wear 
My  kingly  crown,  and  hid  in  yonder  bush 
My  sceptre  lies.     O  risen  orb  of  Day ! 
Scorner  of  weak  mortality,  of  things 
Transient  as  summer's  gladness  and  the  dreams 
That  light  the  thick'ning  gloom  of  petty  man, 
Behold  the  beauty  of  my  Merope ; 
Burn  through  the  blue  of  heaven  so  wide  a  track 
That  she  and  I  this  night  may  mount  by  it 
To  that  high  station  where  her  sisters  wait 
And  mourn  these  many  aeons.     See !  "  he  cried, 
His  eyes  ablaze  with  madness,  and  his  arms 
Uplifted  like  sear'd  branches  to  the  blue, 
"  The  sun  arises  from  his  couch  of  pearl 

[89] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


To  tell  the  world  that  Merope  is  here 
And  the  swart  face  of  Night  shall  gleam  at  last 
As  with  a  new-found  glory.    Fill,  O  Winds, 
Titanic  trumpets  from  your  swollen  cheeks 
And  blow  the  tale  to  where  the  outer  spheres 
Shiver  with  cold.     Bright  Merope  is  here ! 
And  thou,  Orion,  from  thy  gleaming  belt 
Pluck  the  bright  gems  whose  flashes  dazzle  us, 
And  hold  them  for  my  darling.     She  shall  sit 
Splendid  among  bright  splendors;  she  shall  be 
Crown'd  by  the  stars  to  which  men's  eyes  have 

turn'd 

In  wonder  and  in  yearning  since  they  loved." 
And  now  Rhodanthe  cried  to  him  again : 
"  O  Cos,  dear  Cos,  I  pray  thee  let  me  go. 
The  first,  faint  sunshine  means  but  woe  to  me; 
For  long  ere  this  the  nymphs  were  all  astir 
About  Diana.     She  will  call  for  me, 
And  who  shall  answer?     Oh !  I  see  them  now 
Like  bees  about  a  flower.     O  Cos,  dear  Cos, 
I  still  can  mingle  with  them  if  thine  eyes 
Will  only  gleam  less  fiercely,  and  thy  heart 
Will  pity   poor  Rhodanthe."     But  the   youth 
Glared  at  her  body's  whiteness.     "  At  thy  feet 
The  asphodels  of  death,  and  o'er  thy  head 
The  morning's  gold,  O  Merope !  "  he  cried. 
Then  looking  up  to  where  the  stars  had  gleam'd, 
But  now  was  empty,  he  upraised  his  hands 
[90] 


RHODANTHE 


And  cried  again :  "  Await  us,  ye  whose  eyes 

Behold  enormous  Night's  magnificence, 

The  dream-drugg'd  earth,  the  black,  mysterious 

sea, 

Of  dawn  expectant.     Loose  your  trumpeters, 
The  burly  Winds,  and  bid  them  shout  through 

space 
That  with   the    sun's   down-going   there   shall 

gleam 
So  bright  a  thing  that  gods,  with  wond'ring 

eyes, 

Shall  clamor  on  Olympus.     Bid  the  moon 
Prepare  to  grow  in  glory,  like  the  flower 
Love's  kiss  has  made  voluptuous,  lest  her  light 
Be  dimm'd  by  that  of  new-found  Merope 
Whom    I    restore    to    heaven."     Then    to    the 

nymph 
Who,  while  he  raved,  had  stood  with  clasped 

hands 

And  listen'd  fearfully,  the  shepherd  turn'd, 
Advancing  slowly.     And,  with  backward  steps 
Retreating   ever,   from   his    grasp    she    shrank 
Until  she  sensed  a  menace  at  her  heel, 
And,  looking  back,  scream'd  once,  and  then  to 

earth 

Fell,  as  though  lifeless  as  the  bird  she  held. 
For  far  below  she  saw  the  treacherous  sea, 
Its  constant  motion  undiscernible 

[91] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


From  her  chill  height,  a  foot  of  pleasant  soil 
Between  her  footsteps  and  the  dread  abyss 
Unsealed  of  aught  save  sea-gulls.     Even  now 
She  heard  the  rythmic  beating  of  their  wings, 
Their  shrilly-piping  young,  and  far  below 
The    dull,   hoarse   murmur   of   the   rock-spent 

waves 

Like  ghostly  thunder,  low  but  terrible. 
And  now   Cos   stood  above   her.     "  Hear,"  he 

cried, 

"  Aurora's  song  of  morning.     O'er  his  lute 
Apollo  bends  dejected  when  she  plays, 
And  rosy  Zephyrs  wander  down  the  skies 
And  cry  her  coming.     In  her  chariot 
She  comes  from  out  the  crimson  of  the  East 
To  wake  the  world.     Arise,  O  Merope, 
And  greet  Aurora  lest  she  turn  from  thee 
When  thou  art  seated  by  Alcyone, 
Beneath  whose  eyes  she  passes."     To  her  feet 
Then  raised  he  tenderly  the  trembling  girl, 
But  kept  his  arm  about  her.     "  Let  me  go, 
O  gentle  Cos,"  she  pleaded.     "  I  will  pray 
By  day  and  night  the  gods  to  cherish  thee, 
To  lighten  thine  affliction,  and  at  last 
Pour  from  their  vials  such  peace  upon  thy  heart 
That  thou  shalt  bless  Rhodanthe."     And  again 
Her  eyes  beheld  the  still  and  frightful  sea, 
The  sheer  descent,  and  then  the  wild,  wan  face 
[92] 


RHODANTHE 


Of  him  beside  her,  turn'd  expectantly 
Upon  the  sky  above  them.     From  his  mouth 
No  sound  now  issued,  but  in  dumb  commune 
With  things  unseen  his  lips  would  sometimes 

move 

And  then  be  fix'd ;  and  then  would  move  again 
And  stay  half-parted.     In  her  ears  the  boom 
Of  broken  waves  still  sounded,  and  the  whir 
Of  unseen  wings  and  thin,  unlovely  cries — 
Suggesting  ghosts  and  Acheron's  bleak  shores. 
And  then  he  seem'd  her  presence  to  forget 
And  held  her  hand  but  lightly,  gazing  still 
On  dawn's  illusive,  short-lived  mystery 
With     lenient     eyes.     But     while     Rhodanthe 

schemed 

How  best  to  coax  him  let  her  go  her  way 
And  brave  Diana's  anger,  questioning 
If  sudden  flight  would  help  her,  in  his  eyes 
The  flames  leap'd  up.     Then  clasping  her  white 

form 

He  stumbled  seaward ;  and  while  yet  she  saw 
The  woods,  Diana,  Chromis,  and  the  joy 
Of  her  few  years  go  by  as  in  a  flash, 
The   air   received   them — and   her    dream   was 

done. 


[93] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


AID  all  that  morn  beside  his  humble  hut 
Sat  Chromis,  dreaming.     "  She  shall  come 

with  me 

This  very  night,"  he  murmur'd.     "  In  the  dusk, 
When  the  hush'd  woods  compose  themselves  to 

sleep, 

And  inky  bats  patrol  the  shadow'd  aisles 
With  noiseless  wings,  my  love  shall  come  with 

me 

And  share  the  golden  welcome  of  the  sands. 
And  should  she  whisper  of  the  vengeful  nymphs 
Or  pitiless  Diana,  on  her  mouth 
My  lips  shall  press  forgetfulness,  my  hand 
Shall  gently  stroke  the  trouble  from  her  brows, 
My  love  shall  comfort  her."     And  then  he  gazed 
Upon  the  endless  waters,  swinging  now 
With  mighty  movement  outward,  scintillant 
And     joyous-hearted.     On     the     foam-capp'd 

waves 

The  gulls  rode  lightly,  piping  drearily 
Their  harsh  lament,  well  knowing  that  the  deep 
Is  ever  treacherous  and  never  kind. 
But  Chromis  laugh'd.     "  Thy  hands  are  white," 

he  cried, 

"  O  happy  Sea !     The  gods  are  fond  of  thee 
When  thus  thou  raisest  them  to  where  they  sit 
And  curve  their  lips  above  thy  joyousness. 
Beneath  thy  breast  the  ocean  beauties  lie 
[94] 


RHODANTHE 


On  weedy  couches  rooted  in  the  sands 

Or  coral  clusters ;  in  the  eyes  of  them 

Strange  mem'ries  linger,  and  their  arms  allure 

Imperill'd  sailors  to  a  death  so  sweet 

It  leaves  them  smiling.     But  more  fair  than  they 

Is  she  whose  ivory  shoulder  bears  the  bow 

Of  slender  Dian ;  for  her  eyes  are  soft 

With  hope  and  longing.     When  I  gaze  in  them 

I  seem  no  more  a  simple  fisherman, 

But  one  whose  gifts  are  boundless,  heir  to  stars. 

0  happy  Sea !  when  thou  behold'st  my  love, 

My  white  Rhodanthe,  thou  shalt  sing  of  her 

Such  splendid  hymns  that  stars  shall  envy  thee ; 

And  we  will  praise  thee  while  the  dawn  grows 

red 

And  when  the  holy  stillness  of  the  dusk 
Hints  to  our  hearts  our  own  evanishing." 
Then  laughing  softly  as  one  laughs  who  dreams, 
He  rose  and  soon  was  busied  with  his  nets, 
Here  knotting  and  there  mending;  noting  well 
If  all  the  floats  were  perfect.     While  he  work'd 
His  eyes  were  ever  drawn  to  where  the  woods 
Lay  greenly  still  along  the  milky  cliffs ; 
And  once  it  seem'd  faint  echoes  came  to  him 
Of  long-blown  horns,  and  then  despairing  cries, 
Suggesting  death.     And  when  the  sounds  had 

ceased, 

And  once  again  the  murmur  of  the  sea 
[95] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Told  Chromis  of  his  duty,  he  was  glad 

And  bent  above  his  slowly-drying  nets, 

And  laugh'd  again.     For  man  has  ever  been 

The  victim  of  illusion.     In  the  air 

He  sees  bright  visions,  and  his  heart  is  fed 

On  hopes  that  are  less  tangible  than  mist. 

The  sea  is  wiser  in  its  hopelessness; 

The  woods,  in  resignation;  man  alone — 

A  bubble  blown  from  out  the  lips  of  Life 

For  bitter  Death  to  shatter — man  alone 

Expects  the  meagre  mercy  of  To-day, 

The  favor  of  To-morrow.     But  of  this 

What  recks  a  tann'd  and  love-sick  fisherman 

When  greybeards  are  no  wiser?     O'er  his  nets 

He  bent  and  sang,  such  songs  as  ye  may  hear 

If  wand'ring  by  the  melancholy  sea 

On  fragrant  nights  ye  listen,  songs  that  tell 

Of  mermen's  wooings  and  the  vain  pursuit 

Of  wave-borne  beauty,  pale  beneath  its  green. 

And  then  he  sang  an  olden  lullabye, 

A  simple  thing  of  cradles  and  of  stars 

And  mothers'  arms,  and  of  a  drooping  head 

Whose   lids   were   poppy-weighted.     Thus   the 

Hours 

Crept  by  unnoticed  till  the  blessed  Eve, 
The  regal  Night's  fore-runner,  breathed  on  him 
And  still'd  his  song.     For  suddenly  the  dusk 
Fell  all  around  him,  soft,  compassionate, 
[96] 


RHODANTHE 


Solicitous  and  loving.     And  he  rose 

And  sought  his  hut,  where  early  he  had  strewn 

Soft  rushes,  newly  gather'd ;  on  his  couch 

He  threw  strange  skins,  long  treasured,  silken 

stuffs 

Cast  on  his  back  by  bearded  sailor  men 
Who  loved  his  beauty ;  at  the  door  he  placed 
A  lighted  lamp — and  all  to  welcome  her, 
To  welcome  his  Rhodanthe.     And  the  while 
He  bound  his  leather  sandals  to  his  feet, 
And  dream'd  of  her  who  soon  would  enter  there, 
The  Evening  drew  pale  mists  across  the  sea 
As  if  in  pity.     For  the  waves  now  bore 
To  where  the  tender  sands  awaited  her 
His  heart's  desire ;  and  soon  would  lay  her  there 
For  him  to  find;  for  him  to  weep  above 
And  dream  of  till  his  days  had  conquer'd  him, 
And  gentle  whispers  from  the  patient  earth 
Bade  him  come  home  and  ever  be  at  rest. 


[97] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 

HEN  Time  was  young  and  life  so  beau- 
itiful 
That,  bending  earthward   from   their 

airy  heights, 

The  scornful  stars  portentously  look'd  down 
On  happy  men,  there  lived  a  poetess 
In  Mitylene,  on  the  sea-swirl5  d  isle 
Of  fortune-favor'd  Lesbos.     Sister  she 
To  those  same  breezes  that  to-day  may  stir 
The  shiv'ring  olives,  or  the  lusher  leaves 
Of  purpling  grapes  on  hills  where  Pan  once 

piped 

Forgotten  airs  in  ears  long  turn'd  to  dust. 
There  lies  before  me  such  a  thumb-worn  coin 
As  men  have  treasured  for  its  loveliness, 
From  which  I  learn  how  fair  a  thing  she  was, 
Brow,  nose  and  chin  pure  Greek,  with  heavy  lids 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


To  veil  her  eyes'  chaste  passion.     On  her  head 
The  close-coil'd  hair  revealing  modestly 
A  tiny  ear,  and  an  exquisite  throat 
Leading  to  greater  beauties.     This  was  she 
Whose  faint  few  notes  withstand  the  centuries, 
While  volumes  are  forgotten.     Though  no  more 
We  speak  of  emperors  or  dynasties, 
Or  India's  gorgeous-jewell'd  pageantry, 
The  fame  of  Sappho  trembles  like  a  star 
Above  life's  doom'd  illusions  and  the  noise 
That  ever  ends  in  silence.     Dust  is  now 
The  hand  that  moulded  for  our  eyes  to  see, 
And  wonder  at,  her  beauty;  dust  is  she, 
And  all  her  passion  but  a  memory 
Along  with  first-won  kisses.     But  to  those 
Whose  lips  have  sigh'd  a  promise,  and  whose 

hearts 

The  fonder  grow  for  life's  impermanence, 
She  is  not  dead.  On  nights  of  amethyst 
When  eyes  and  souls  dream  starward,  near  to 

them 

She  draws  from  out  the  Stygian  silences, 
Old    loves    rememb'ring.     Then    the    dreamers 

hear 

The  songs  she  sang  while  from  the  joyous  sea 
The  wind  came  up  and  frolick'd  in  the  wheat 
On  golden  mornings.     Lesbian  melodies 
Once  piped  by  love-lorn  shepherds,  melodies 
[  102  ] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


Suggested  by  the  laughter  of  a  god 

A  nymph  at  twilight  wooing — these  she  sings 

To  them  that  listen ;  and  the  voice  of  her 

Is  sad,  as  is  the  rustle  of  the  leaves ; 

Is  soft,  as  summer's  comfortable  rain. 

BENEATH  the  vine-hung  porches   of  her 
home, 

Upon  a  couch  be-spread  with  leopard  skins 
Lay  Sappho,  musing,  list'ning  to  the  sea 
Whose  lazy  murmur  pleased  her.     It  was  dawn, 
And  not  a  wind  yet  ventured  forth  to  wreak 
Its  will  upon  the  waters,  strangely  still, 
A  sling's  cast  from  her  gardens.     Over-head 
It  seem'd  one  saw  the  bosom  of  a  dove, 
Serenely  grey ;  and  yet  a  rosiness 
Encroach'd  upon  its  softness,  heralding 
The  glad-eyed  Day.     And  as  when  music  nears 
Through  half-hush'd  woods  to  dreams  still  dedi 
cate, 

This  rosiness  grew  brighter,  till  at  last 
A  shouting  glory  seem'd  to  fill  the  void 
'Twixt  earth  and  sky,  and  then  the  constant 

sun 

Came  to  his  own,  supreme.     Now  Sappho  rose, 
And  lifting  slowly  to  the  arch'd  serene 
White,  wondrous  arms,  wherein  no  lover's  head 
Had  yet  found  shelter  for  its  weariness, 
[103] 


;  . 

•  •  ,   . 

IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Thus   hymn'd   the   morn's   full-blown   magnifi 
cence  : 
"  Day,  Day,  bright  Day !     I  would  I  were  like 

thee, 

For  thou  art  everlasting.     Thou  dost  see 
Each  impluse  of  the  ever-patient  world 
And  all  its  aspiration.     In  a  glow 
Thou  passest  through  the  mystery  of  dawn 
To  where  new  birth  awaits  thee.     Old  thou  art, 
Yet  ever  young ;  and  thee  the  grey  Night  sees, 
And  loves  thee  for  thy  scorning.     Heeding  not 
The  dewy  sorrow  of  her  haunting  gaze 
Thou  passest  on  with  glories  in  thy  train 
That  seek  to  win  and  hold  thee ;  only  She, 
The  troubled  Night,  adores  thee  and — abides." 
Array'd  in  white  she  stood  there,  white  without 
And  white  within,  as  though  the  sea's  own  foam, 
Incarnate,  pulsed  in  mortal  loveliness 
To  tell  the  sad,  strange  message  of  the  sea. 
For  Nature  uses  oft  such  instruments 
For  her  interpretation,  lest  the  songs 
Of  winds  and  waters  be  forever  lost 
Amid  our  harsher  singing.     From  the  soil 
Ascend  soft  murmurs,  tales  of  days  byegone 
And  loves  long  hopeless.    These  the  poet  hears 
And  tells  again  at  sundown;  from  the  stars 
Descend  the  faint,  illusive  melodies 
He  sings  at  dawnburst  when  the  hills  are  wet 
[  104] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


And  consecration's  light  illumes  the  sky. 

And  though  still  young,  too  well  fond  Sappho 

knew 
Whence  came  those  earth-sweet  murmurs,  from 

what  lips 
Once  curved  and  crimson.     Well,  too  well  she 

knew 

How  short  a  while  we  linger  in  the  light 
That  soon  becomes  a  mem'ry  ;  well  she  knew 
That  all  goes  down,  with  laughter  or  with  tears 
To  mingle  with  blown  roses  ;  well  she  knew 
That  e'en  the  stars,  despite  their  choruses 
And  solemn  chants  and  gleaming  bravery, 
Must  sometime  pale,  be  silent,  and  anon 
Must  disappear  as  though  they  had  not  been. 


A^D  while  peace  trembled  over  her,  as  light 
May  tremble  o'er  the  flower  so  delicate 
That  dusk  alone  may  woo  it  fearlessly, 
She  lean'd  from  out  the  vine's  embroidery, 
And  sigh'd,  and  then  was  silent.     In  her  heart 
Strange   fancies  nestled,   dreams   as  yet  half- 

form'd, 

First  longings  and  desires  yet  unexpress'd, 
Except  when  from  her  soul  the  Muses  drew 
The  first  sweet  strains  of  wing'd  and  poignant 

song. 

For  erst  when  one  has  suffer'd,  loved  and  lost, 
[  105] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Beheld  all  glory  dimm'd,  and  those  bright  wings 
Whereon  all  starry  splendors  lie  enthroned 
Beat  darkly  in  the  ebon  solitudes ; 
When  dreams  prove  vain  and  hopes  ridiculous, 
And  in  our  ears  the  laughter  of  the  gods 
Booms  like  portentous  thunder,  then  perhaps 
That  cry  may  come  at  which  the  multitude 
Shall  gape  and  shout :  "  The  Singer !  "     But  as 

yet 

Her  loves  were  mostly  dream-loves.     In  her  ears 
Old  men,  half-dead  and  wholly  splendor-blind, 
Had  shrill'd  their  palsied  passion,  tending  her 
Their  hoarded  treasures  for  her  loveliness, 
Their  rubies  for  her  laughter ;  at  her  side 
Pale  youths  had  stray'd  when  purple  hyacinths 
Breathed  on  the  air  a  scent  so  odorous 
That  madness   seized  them,  and  in  stammerM 

speech 

They  told  their  love;  and  others,  graver-eyed, 
But  still  desirous  of  a  maid  so  fair, 
Had  sought  to  win  her.     But  on  each  and  all — 
On  men  of  purpose,  as  on  wild-hair'd  boys 
And  trembling  dotards — Sappho  turn'd  an  eye 
Of  equal  favor,  blue  and  passionless 
As  April's  sky.     Alcaeus,  it  is  true, 
Was  ever  with  her.     But  she  loved  him  not, 
Or  only  loved  his  song;  while  he,  't  was  said, 
To-day  loved  her,  to-morrow  Cyane, 

[  106] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


Or  Polyphonta  of  the  hopeless  smile 

And    large,    unhappy    eyes.     For    love    comes 

easily 

To  one  to  whom  all  maids  are  beautiful 
And  worth  at  least  the  effort  of  a  song. 
And  so  while  Sappho  listen'd  to  his  vows, 
Or  shook  her  head  when  dusk  and  fragrances 
Upon  the  poet  work'd  their  witchery 
And  roused  the  older  longings  of  the  man, 
Her  thoughts  were  elsewhere,  e'en  as  now  they 

were 

With  that  which  still  was  wanting.     And  again 
She  sigh'd — whose  loves,  with  Helen's,  were  to  be 
Eternity's  one  wonder — and  again 
The  vine-leaves  trembled  while  she  cried  through 

them: 

"  The  silence  lays  its  charm  upon  my  soul ; 
And  things  of  shadow,  things  impermanent, 
Are  shadow  things  no  longer.     In  the  skies 
Mysterious  processions  form  and  greet, 
0  Day,  thy  bright  enthronement ;  and  the  air 
Is  quick  as  with  the  movements  of  the  gods, 
Imperious  and  splendid.     Change  nor  Time 
Can  lay  on  them  an  unremitted  toll, 
Nor  make  them  mock  the  flaming  face  of  Hope 
Or  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  Despair. 
They  suffer  not  who  burn  not  with  desire ; 
Who  wing  beneath  the  azure  vault  of  heaven 
[107] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Their  flight  superb.     'T  is  we,  star-enviers, 
Dreamers  of  dreams  no  god  may  understand, 
Whose  little  lives  in  their  unhappy  loves 
Fly  like  a  wind-borne  fragrance,  that  decline 
By  ways  of  wreck'd  ambition,  steady  griefs, 
Into  the  night  that  gave  us  to  the  day. 
I  would  I  were  not  Sappho !  "     And  her  eyes 
Search'd  the  blue  heaven's  eterne  serenity 
In  wistful  question.     But  no  answer  came, 
As  none  e'er  comes  from  skies  and  from  the  sea 
Or  aught  that  notes  the  wistf  ulness  of  man 
Since   first   he   wonder'd.     And   the  while   she 

gazed, 

Her  favor'd  slave  had  enter'd,  in  whose  eyes 
The  dusk  of  Egypt  brooded;  one  who  was 
As  young  as  Sappho  and  as  delicate, 
Although  her  skin  was  tawny  as  the  sands, 
And  Egypt's  huge,  unfathom'd  mystery 
Had  made  her  joyless.     On  the  silky  rugs 
Her  arch'd  foot  stepp'd  so  lightly  that  no  sound 
Told  Sappho  of  her  presence ;  and  the  slave 
Was  close  beside  her  ere  she  slowly  turn'd, 
With  yet  that  look  of  question  in  her  eyes, 
That  mouth  of  sorrow.     And  the  slave  was  wise 
Beyond  her  years.    "  O  Sappho,  thou  art  pale," 
She  said,  and  laid  cool  fingers  to  her  cheek ; 
"  The  sunshine  riots  in  thy  golden  hair 
fAnd  bids  thee  hymn  Apollo.     But  thy  lips 
[  108  ] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


Are  those  of  one  who  nevermore  may  sing 
Save  Autumn's  dirges,  or  of  hopeless  winds 
That  roam  wide  wastes  of  melancholy  sea. 
Why  art  thou  pale,  O  Sappho?  "     Then  on  her 
The  poetess  smiled  wanly.     "  Pale  am  I 
Because  all  beauty  pales  before  a  sky 
Of  dawn  enamor'd.     Naught  can  rival  it 
Save  the  sweet  flower  that  modestly  looks  up, 
Unconscious  of  the  dewy  crown  it  wears, 
To  ask  a  blessing  and  delight  the  gods 
With  the  mere  sight  of  its  tranquillity. 
And  yet  I  seem  so  very  old  to-day." 
(Here  sigh'd  she  and  look'd  seaward,  sighing 

still.) 

"  It  cannot  be  I  wrote  but  yester-eve," 
She  mused  at  last,  "  a  few  short  hours  ago, 
That  happy  line  about  the  nightingale — 
I  seem  more  fit  for  tragedy  than  song." 
And  then  she  held  against  her  fever'd  cheek 
The  vine's  cool  leaves,  and  drew  her  pretty  slave 
So  close  her  lips  might  almost  touch  her  ear. 
"  I  dream'd,  dear  Nepthys,  that  my  brows  were 

bound 

With  asphodel,5'  she  whisper'd.     "  In  my  hand 
I  clasp'd  a  lily,  white — Ah !  white  as  death. 
The  meaning  tell  me.     I  am  grey  at  heart. 
The  dawn  is  wearisome;  the  very  sea, 
Clapping  its  hands  to  make  me  laugh  with  it, 
[109] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Can  comfort  me  no  more."     "Who  dreams  of 

asphodels 
Shall  love,"  the  slave   said.     "Lilies   hint   of 

tears. 

So  say  those  wise  in  dreams.     Ismenias, 
Who  reads  the  stars,  may  tell  thee  more  than  I, 
Who  fear  that  one  great  passion  shall  be  thine 
And  thou  shalt  rue  it  till  thy  soul  be  weigh'd 
Against  the  feather.     Have  I  anger'd  thee? 
Thus  mock  us  with  their  gifts  the  bitter  gods, 
Both  thine  and  mine.     A  woman  learns  it  soon." 
But  Sappho  only  turn'd  to  where  the  sea 
Glinted  and  gleam'd,  as   though   their  silv'ry 

spears 

Ten  thousand  Tritons  brandish' d  from  beneath 
And  pierced  the  flood.     "  Whom  I  shall  love," 

she  said, 

"  I'll  hold  to  me  forever.     Love  like  mine 
Is  such  a  gorgeous  jewel  it  shall  dart 
In  coruscating  splendor,  ray  by  ray, 
Into  the  very  soul  of  him  I  love. 
There  shall  not  be  one  darksome  spot  in  him ; 
But,  lit  by  my  true  passion,  he  shall  be 
The  faithful  lantern  in  my  firmament, 
All  mine,,  forever,  as  yon  constant  sun 
Burns   with  the   gods'   hot   fire    and   worships 

them." 

"  So  have  we  dream'd  since  men  first  woke  in  us 
[110] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


The  fateful  passion,"  Nepthys  cried  to  her. 
"  We  are  tha  sands ;  our  lovers  are  the  winds 
That  lift  us  from  our  deserts  of  despair 
And   swirl   us   starward;   then   they   fly    from 

us, 

As  flies  the  wind,  and  in  despair  again 
As  falls  the  hopeless  sand  we  fall  to  earth 
And  evermore  mourn  man's  inconstancy." 
So  spoke  she,  slowly,  as  a  child  might  say 
A  well-learn'd  song.     "  0  Nepthys,  hast  thou 

loved?" 
Cried  Sappho,  turning  from  the  wind-stirr'd 

vines, 

Her  hands  upon  her  bosom.     "  Sad  thy  voice 
As  tender  Memory's  who  leans  to  hear 
The  low  flute's  dirges,  and  above  the  soil 
Breathes  her  lament  for  perish'd  loveliness." 
"  My  mother  loved,"  the  little  slave  replied ; 
"  And  when  I  drew  the  first  sweet  milk  of  her 
I  learn'd  the  sorrow  that,  or  soon  or  late, 
Each  woman  learns.     No  wonder  we  are  sad. 
But  come,"  she  cried.     "  A  thousand  violets 
With  yellow  roseleaves  mix'd  till  odorous 
The  water  seems,  await  thee  in  thy  bath. 
And  while  thou  bathest  I  will  sing  to  thee 
A  love  song  of  the  desert,  sweetly  strange 
Because  most  happy.     It  shall  hearten  thee 
To  meet  thy  fate,  O  Sappho.     Asphodels 

in 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


And  white-cheek'd  lilies !     Oh ! "     And  then  she 

laugh'd, 
And  led  her  silent  mistress  from  the  porch. 


I  HAT  noon  she  call'd  the  little  slave  to 

her, 

'"  I  still  am  weary  of  myself,"  she  said. 
"  My  tablets  lie  untouch'd.     I  cannot  write. 
There  surely  is  some  splendor  in  the  heavens 
For  me  to  sing  of ;  has  the  world  grown  dark 
That  in  it  now  no  beauty  I  behold, 
Nor  find  an  inspiration?     In  ourselves 
The  trouble  lies,  for  all  is  beautiful 
Could  we  but  see  it.     All  is  marvellous 
From  sun  to  flower,  and  a  perfection  crowns 
Each  thing  about  us.     I  am  growing  old. 
I  wrote  my  last  poor  verses  yesterday." 
But  Nepthys  mock'd  her.     "  'T  was  a  week  ago 
The  Muse  forsook  thee,  and  thy  work  was  done. 
So  sure  thou  wert  thou  threwest  in  the  sea, 

0  moody  one,  thy  Venus-praising  hymn. 
Yet  Mitylene  now  is  marvelling 
About  thy  verses  to  the  nightingale — 

1  would  I  could  repeat  them."     While  she  spoke, 
Half-wistfully  and  slowly,  on  her  couch 

The  restless  Sappho,  toying  with  a  chain 
[  112] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


Of  gleaming,  brown-gold  topaz,  now  reclined 
And     now     was     seated.     "  Nevermore,"     she 

sigh'd, 

"  Shall  I  betray  the  Muse's  confidence, 
Or  clothe  in  leaden  words  the  fancies  light 
I  sometimes  hear  in  dreams.     Let  others  sing; 
My  heart  is  over-heavy."     And  the  slave 
Laugh'd  as  one  laughs  who  hears  a  child  com 
plain 

About  a  fancied  grief.     "  Thou  needest  rest. 
The  sight   of  blood,  methinks  would  do  thee 

good. 

Oh!  there's  relief  in  combat."  (Sappho  raised 
Her  perfumed  hands  in  protest)     "  When  the 

mind 

Is  sick  or  weary,  let  the  lions  slay 
A  mewling  slave.     'T  is  splendid  medicine 
For  sickly  hearts."     But  Sappho  silenced  her, 
Although    the    slave    still    laugh'd.     "There 

comes,"  she  said, 

The  while  she  fann'd  her  mistress  with  a  leaf, 
"  Of  late  a  new  admirer  to  thy  door; 
He  says  he  knows  thy  wonder-songs  by  heart, 
And  fain  would  see  thee.     Thou  enslavest  all 
By  songs  of  love  and  hopeless  nightingales." 
Then  Sappho  question'd  idly :  "  To  my  door 
He  comes,  thou  sayest?  "     "  Yes,"  the  slave  re 
plied. 

[113] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


"  Three  times  he  came,  and  three  times  went 

away 

Because  I  mock'd  him.     When  he  said  thy  name 
I  almost  pitied  him  and  let  him  in 
To  gaze  a  while  upon  thee  from  afar. 
For  never  yet  has  one  so  said  thy  name, 
O  perfect  Sappho;  never  could  the  wind 
So  breathe  a  hopeless  passion  as  when  he 
Whisper'd  his  plea  to  see  thee.     '  Go,'  I  cried ; 
6  Thy  naked  shoulders  would  offend  her  eye ; 
Thy  hands  are  rough  with  labor.     At  her  feet 
Kneel  dream-fed  poets;  grey  philosophers, 
Whose  flame  of  life  is  feeble,  at  her  side 
Long  for  their  youth.     But  all  are  wearisome 
To  her  whose  eyes  behold  the  beautiful 
In  lands  of  dream  beyond  the  gaze  of  us 
Who  have  our  being  here,  and  are  no  more.'  " 
"  But  Nepthys,  Nepthys !  "  cried  the  Poetess, 
Now  upright  sitting.     "  Tell  me  more  of  him. 
It  was  not  kind  to  send  him  from  my  door,. 
Him  whom  my  song  had  lured  there.     Thou 

hast  said 
*  His       naked       shoulders,'       '  Labor-harden'd 

hands,' 

Was  he  a  slave?     The  more  should  I  be  kind. 
The  poet  should  be  rich  in  sympathy 
And  give,  to  them  that  need  it,  more  (than  song; 
Too  oft  our  singing  makes  us  passionless, 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


Forgetful  of  our  brothers  that  are  mute." 
But  now  the  maid  was  busied  with  a  bowl 
Wherein  bright  fish  with  round,  unwinking  eyes 
Gaped  at  the  world  in  lazy  unconcern, 
Assured    their    food.     "  A     free-man    he ;     a 

Greek," 

She  answer'd  slowly.     "  He  is  fair  enough 
To  make  a  maid's  heart  heavy ;  but  for  thee, 
Thou  hast  too  many  thai}  are  noble  born 
To  sing  thy  praise  to  need  a  ferry-man, 
However  fair  and  stalwart,  in  thy  train." 
"A  ferry-man?"  cried  Sappho.     "One  whose 

boat 

Is  often  idle,  while  he  sits  and  dreams 
Or  mocks  his  busy  fellows,"  Nepthys  said. 
"  His  name  is  Phaon,  or  he  said  it  was 
When  I  had  told  him  you  might  come  one  eve 
And  bid  him  use  those  splendid  arms  of  his 
To  pull  us  to  and  fro  beneath  the  stars. 
A  merry  rogue  I  judged  him  by  his  eyes ; 
And  yet  he  sigh'd  when  '  To  thy  boat ! '  I  cried : 
'  Command  a  trireme  ere  thou  knockest  here.' ' 
But  Sappho  now  was  musing.     On  the  sea 
Her  gaze  still  center'd.     "  <  Phaon  ' !     Such  a 

name 

Suggests  a  grief,"  she  whisper'd  to  herself. 
"  The  breaking  of  light  waves  upon  the  sands 
Is  Melancholy's  music.     Phaon  is 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


A  flame  extinguished  by  the  winds  at  night. 
Ah!  what  so  sweet  as  '  Phaon,'  or  so  sad?  " 
And  now  she  eyed  that  little  slave  of  hers, 
Who  stood  before  her  like  a  thing  of  stone 
And  ever  wonder'd.     "  Shouldst  thou  love,"  she 

said, 

"  And  lose  the  one  thou  lovest,  say  that  name 
When   the   sad   Night   enswathes    thee.     More 

than  sighs 

It  shall  express  thy  sorrow.     When  the  wind 
Wanders  through  gloomy  caverns  by  the  sea 
That  name  it  moans,  and  moans  it  on  the  hills 
When  skies  are  grey  and  all  is  desolate 
As  the  grey  world  beneath  us.     In  my  heart 
I  know  not  what  sad  memory  awakes 
When  I  say  '  Phaon.'     It  is  like  the  rain, 
Fond  Nature's  pity,  but  it  soothes  me  not 
As  is  the  soil  soothed.     6  Phaon ! '     Say  it  thou, 
My  night-eyed  Nepthys."     But  the  slave  was 

mute, 

And  shook  her  head.     "  He  is  the  ferry-man," 
She  said  at  last.     "  The  wantons  laugh  with 

him. 

They  lay  cool  fingers  on  his  full-blown  lips 
And   deck   his   brows   with   garlands.     In   the 

night 

When  thou  art  gazing  at  thy  sister  stars, 
Dreaming  the  love  that  is  most  beautiful 
[116] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


Because  a  dream-love  only,  Phaon  sits 
With  Cyprian  Chloris  in  a  cottage  shunn'd 
By   all  whom   thou  wouldst  welcome — such   a 

house 

As  none  dares  enter  in  the  glare  of  day. 
'T  is  call'd  the  House  of  Jasmines.     When  I 

pass 

I  turn  my  head;  but  ever  me  pursues 
The  fragrance  of  the  jasmine.     It  is  said 
He  thanks  white  Venus  for  his  comeliness. 
Performing  her  a  service,  as  reward 
She  made  him  the  most  beautiful  of  men — 
I  wonder  thou,  who  knowest  everything, 
Hast  not  heard  this."     "  It  is  an  idle  tale 
Spun  by  an  idler  poet  in  his  cups," 
Said  Sappho  slowly.     "  Yet  if  he  should  come 
Once  more,  good  Nepthys,  as  thou  lovest  me 
Be  good  to  him.     Who  knows  but  words  of 

mine 

May  offset  Chloris'  arts ;  may  tell  to  him 
The  white  foam's  message?     Wind-blown,  pas 
sionless, 

Child  of  the  ever  passion-tortured  sea 
And  Titan  turmoil,  pure  it  ever  is; 
So  pure  it  is,  dear  Nepthys.     In  the  night 
It  makes  me  think  of  pale  Eurydice 
Moving  so  silently,  so  hopelessly 
Beside  the  Styx's  waters ;  but  at  dawn, 
[117] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


When  through  the  air  bright  gods  flash  scorn- 

fully, 

The  foam  reminds  me  of  true  poetry  — 
Lost  ere  we  grasp  it.     I  must  sing  thereof. 
My   tablets,    Nepthys.     Hasten  !     Bring   them 

here." 
Then  mused  the  slave.     "I  thought  —  "     But 

ere  she  spoke 

Her  thought  of  Sappho's  inconsistency, 
The  knock  was  heard  upon  the  outer  door 
And,  eager-eyed,  she  sped  —  to  let  him  in. 


A^D    soon    he   stood    before   her,    bronzed, 
erect, 

And  conscious  only  of  the  one  he  saw, 
His  equal  in  sheer  beauty.     Well  she  knew  — 
And  who  in  Mitylene  knew  it  not?  — 
The  tale  that  link'd  the  fellow  with  the  one 
Whose  wanton  loveliness  made  moths  of  men  ; 
Whose  eyes  were  lodestones  till  she  cast  them 

off 

And  fed  new  lovers  to  her  passion's  flame. 
And  while  she  lay  at  ease  upon  her  couch, 
And  watch'd  him  idly,  yet  expectantly, 
She  wish'd  she  knew  the  tale  those  lips  could 

tell; 
And,    wishing,    was    half-conquer'd.     So    she 

spoke, 

[118] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


And  sweet  that  low  voice  sounded  in  his  ears 
Who  kneel'd  to  hear  it.     "Who  art  thou?" 

she  ask'd; 

"  And  what  has  drawn  thee  from  the  singing  sea 
To  my  abode?     Here  I  abide  with  dreams 
And  half -heard  voices.     Though  I  sleep  or  wake 
I  hear  soft  whispers,  see  pale  presences 
Of  other  eyes  unseen.     For  thee  it  is 
No  place  to  kneel  in;  thou  no  poet  art, 
No  sick  philosopher  who  aims  to  mend 
The  sorry  world  he  lives  in.     In  thy  hair 
The  sun  has  nestled,  and  thy  lips  are  those 
Of  one  who  loves  this  life,  but  sings  it  not, 
Nor  argues  much  about  it.     Who  art  thou?" 
And  he,  still  kneeling,  lower'd  now  his  eyes 
To  where  stray  petals  strewn  upon  the  floor 
Hinted  the  wind's  wild  passion.     "  I  am  he," 
He  said  at  last,  "  of  whom  but  ill  report 
Has  reach'd  to  ears  so  delicate  as  thine. 
Phaon  am  I,  the  boatman.     When  I  stood 
Without  thy  gate,  thy  slave  upbraided  me 
With  '  Sappho  is  not  Chloris.     Get  thee  gone 
Where  she  awaits  thee.     Sappho  and  the  stars 
Tremble  in  heights  where  thou  canst  never  be.' 
And  yet — 0  thou,  who  art  love's  poetess, 
Whose  wild,  sweet  song  is  love's  interpreter, 
Is  passion's  music,  thou  wilt  pity  me 
Who,  like  a  leprous  beggar,  come  to  thee, 
[119] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Lured  by  the  hymns  that  other  lips  than  mine 
Read  in  the  market-place  while,  open-mouth'd, 
We  mute  ones  listen,  deeming  thee  divine." 
And   Sappho   smiled.     "Thou   pleadest  well," 

she  said. 

"  But  thou  and  I  are  of  the  self -same  clay 
That  perishes  so  soon.     The  boatman  thou, 
And  I  the  singer;  both  by  tolerance 
Are  here  at  all.     Upon  the  rocking  sea 
Thou  dreamest  daily — by  thine  eyes  I  know 
Thou  art  a  dreamer.     I,  beneath  these  vines, 
Sit  with  closed  lids  and  think  I  am  at  sea 
Or  where  the  gods  are  gather'd.     But  the  night 
May  take  me  hence,  O  Phaon,  to  the  dusk, 
Where  they  that  wear  mortality's  fair  garb 
Forever  brood  in  silence  o'er  the  past." 
But  Phaon's  face  now  flamed  above  her  own. 
"  Yet  still  art  thou  divine,  O  Sapphire-eyed !  " 
His  lips  protested.     "  Thou  as  deathless  art 
As  are  all  things  of  beauty.     Music,  flower, 
The     sea's     imperious     splendor,     high-hung 

cloud — 
These  change,  but  die  not.     Thou  art  part  of 

them, 

And  so  shalt  live  forever.     In  the  air 
Each  echo  of  thy  far-resounding  song 
Shall  ever  quiver,  as  the  lark's  brave  note 
Forever  quivers.     Death  may  beckon  thee; 
[120] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


But  still  shall  linger  in  the  hearts  of  men 

Thy  memory,  O  Sappho !  "     While  he  spoke 

Her  eyes  grew  tender  as  the  sky  itself, 

And  in  its  sanctuary,  vaguely  stirr'd, 

Her  young  heart  flutter'd.     Yet  her  gaze  was 

fix'd 

Upon  a  snowy,  slightly-swaying  sail, 
That  gleam'd  an  instant,  and  then  dropp'd  from 

sight 

Where  the  flat  sea  seem'd  suddenly  to  end. 
And  though  she  was  not  quite  aware  of  it, 
Gazing  beyond  the  thing  she  seem'd  to  see, 
How  oft  in  greyer  years  that  snowy  sail 
Remember'd   was — that   golden    afternoon. 
How  oft  it  seem'd,  when  the  bright  day  was 

done 

And  Memory  stole  forth  with  the  chaste  moon, 
Itself  a  pale  regret — how  oft  it  seem'd 
She  heard  that  voice  above  her,  passionate 
And  yet  so  sad.     How  oft  to  where  the  stars 
Peep'd  through  the  purple  canopies  of  heaven 
And  hymn'd  the  Night,  she  raised  her  unkiss'd 

eyes 
And    whisper'd :    "  Phaon !  "     Ah !    the    winds 

could  tell — 

The  viewless  winds,  so  heavy  with  our  griefs — 
Would  they  but  answer.     But  they  tell  us  not 
Of  things  so  bitter  as  untimely  death, 
[121] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


So  sad  as  misplaced  love.     They  wander  on, 
With  sorrow  swollen,  over  sea  and  land, 
And  sigh  forever  and  forever  sigh, 
Feeding  on  man's  eterne  unhappiness. 

THEN,  seeing  he  was  silent,  Sappho  spoke; 
And  low  her  voice  was,  as  the  dove's  voice  is 
In  half-hush'd  woods  at  twilight.     "  Thou  art 

one 

Of  whom,  indeed,  men  tell  unhappy  things 
Beyond  my  understanding.     Sings  the  sea 
No  stern  reproof  of  that — thy  wickedness  ? 
And  do  the  stars,  night's  blessed  comforters, 
Utter  no  protest  when  thou  shamest  them? 
Day    loves    thy    manly    beauty.     Canst    thou 

stand 

Erect  amid  its  sunshine  uncondemn'd? 
The  very  beauty  that  encircles  us 
Should  keep  us  clean;  for  we  are  part  of  it — • 
Of  trees  and  flowers.     Through  not  unkindly 

eyes 

They  note  our  aspirations,  our  conceits, 
Our  struttings  and  our  weakness.     They  behold 
Thy  beauty,  Phaon ;  they  delight  in  mine, 
And  mourn,  as  we  mourn,  broken  loveliness, 
The  lost  ideal  and  barter'd  purity." 
Then  Phaon  cried,  now  kneeling  at  her  side, 
Yet  looking  down :  "  Lest  in  the  treach'rous  sea 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


I  hurl  my  soil'd  self,  pity  I     What  am  I 
That  thou  shouldst  waste  thy  starry  thoughts 

on  me, 

So  far  beneath  thee?     Sappho!  I  have  sinn'd 
As  weak  men  sin.     But  once  I  gazed  on  thee — 
It  was  the  morn  our  runners  proved  their  skill 
O'er  Phyxo  of  Methymna — and  I  ask'd 
What  flower  it  was  that  thus  in  human  form 
Made  Mitylene  famous.     One  replied: 
'  Her  name  is  Sappho.     From  the  palace  steps 
She  reads  this  noon  her  Hymn  to  Proserpine. 
Who,  then,  art  thou,  that  knowest  Sappho  not?' 
But  I  was  silent,  for  mine  eyes  on  thee 
Rested  as  on  bright  loveliness  itself. 
And  thee  I  follow'd  with  the  murm'ring  crowd 
Until  I  saw  thee  halo'd  by  the  great, 
The  brave,  the  thoughtful  and  the  beautiful, 
Thine  eyes  turn'd  skyward.     White  thy  gar 
ments  were 

And  pale  the  face  above  them;  but  thy  brows 
Were  violet-clasp'd ;  and  oh !  thy  golden  hair 
That  fell  about  thee  as  the  sunshine  falls 
About  a  thing  of  loveliness  in  stone ! 
I  heard  thee  speak.     Thy  words  were  passion- 

wing'd. 

It  seem'd  I  saw  the  hopeless  Proserpine 
With  swirling  ghosts  about  her,  grey  and  cold, 
Speechless  and  leaden-hearted.     On  her  lips 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


An   awful  sorrow  quiver'd;  from  her  eyes 
Pale  Death  had  blown  the  pity  and  the  dream. 
And  when  at  last  thy  face  was  turn'd  to  earth 
It  seem'd  that  I  still  huddled  in  the  hell 
Thy  fancy  painted;  when  at  last  I  breathed 
The  sweet,  warm  air  again,  I  found  thee  gone, 
And  gaping  men  around  me.     From  that  day, 
My  past  is  bitter ;  for  I  dream  of  thee 
And  long  for  thee,  O  Sappho!     I  whose  hands 
Are  set  to  oars,  whose  shoulders  to  the  sun 
Are  ever  bared ;  whose  bread  is  earn'd  by  toil — 
Take    pity,     Sappho ! "     In    the    wind-stirr'd 

vines 

A  bird  had  settled.     With  its  head  a-slant, 
It  weigh'd  what  harm  this  man  might  wreak  on 

it, 

And  feeling  safe,  commenced  at  last  to  sing, 
Oblivious  to  his  presence.     And  the  song 
Roused    Sappho    from    her    dreaming.     "  Art 

thou  come 

To  tell  me  this?  "  she  ask'd  him.     "  It  is  praise 
Beyond  mere  laurels."     But  he  answer'd  not, 
Nor  sought  her  eyes ;  but  ever  look'd  away, 
Full  conscious  of  his  own  unworthiness 
And  fearful  of  her  anger.     And  at  last 
She  rose  and  stood  beside  him  where  he  kneel'd, 
And  touch'd  his  hair.     "  I,  too,  have  dream'd," 

she  said, 

[  124] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


"  Of  other  things  than  sunsets  and  the  loves 
Of  long-dead  lovers.  I  have  dream'd  of  one 
Whose  hand  might  lead  me  down  the  ways  of 

life; 
Whose   voice   might   comfort   me;  whose   eyes 

might  shine 

With  warmer  sympathy  than  warms  the  stars 
That  share  night's  solemn  silences  with  me. 
I,  too,  have  dream'd,  O  Phaon ! "     Then   she 

cried 

With  sudden  passion :  "  If  thou  lovest  me, 
And  lovest  truly  as  thine  eyes  declare, 
Then  win  me,  Phaon ;  win  me !     Where  it  will, 
Love  bursts  in  blossom.     We  the  puppets  are 
Of  them  that  watch  us  ever  stonily, 
And  deem  us  children,  as  we  doubtless  are. 
So  thou  art  worthy  of  a  woman's  love 
A    woman    still    would    love    thee,    though    in 

chains 

The  galleys  held  thee.     Go  thou  to  thy  toil. 
A  singer  I ;  but  I  am  woman  still ; 
And  though  thou  toilest,  thou  a  dreamer  art, 
And  so  a  King.     I'll  come  to  thee  at  eve, 
And  we  will  look  together  on  the  stars 
Above  the  silent  waters.     Go  thou  now. 
The  little  bird  has  left  us,  fearing  me 
Who  would  not  harm  it,  nor  would  harm  the 

hair 

[ 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


I     touch     so     gently.     Leave     me!     Nepthys 
comes." 


HE  days  sped  by.     Time  is  as  pitiless 
To  lovers  as  to  dotards.     One  and  all 
Hasten,  with  backward  glances,  to  the 
shade 

Deeper  than  that  the  tree  casts ;  there  to  wait 
No  first,  faint  flush  of  sombre-tinted  .skies; 
But  unexpectant,  in  grey  solitude, 
Hopeless  as  is  pale  heartlessness  itself, 
To  mourn  the  days  that  once  were  bright,  were 

sweet, 

As  flashing  swords  and  clashing  cymbalry. 
But  little  heed  gave  Sappho  to  grey  Time, 
And  little  heed  gave  Phaon.     In  his  boat, 
When  dusk  had  closed  the  flowers  and  hush'd  the 

town, 

They  sat  within  the  shelter  of  the  sail, 
Forgetful  of  the  inattentive  slave 
Whose  eyes  stared  seaward.     Ever  on  and  on 
The  soft  winds  bore  them ;  and  perhaps  he  sang 
Songs  long  forgotten  of  forgotten  things, 
Dead  loves  and  hopeless  passions.     Overhead 
The  stars  that  saw  the  tragedy  of  Troy 
Travell'd  their  ways  in  utter  unconcern 
[  126] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


Of  aught  beneath  them;  and  the  sea  was  dark 
With     thoughts     of     secret     and    forbidding 

things — 

Of  future  tempests  when  the  madden'd  winds 
Might   scream   their  hatred,  and   the  bulging 

clouds 

Like  monstrous  sheep,  distracted,  fill  all  space. 
But  now  those  winds  were  gentle  as  the  breath 
That  sometimes  warm'd  him  when  she  question'd 

him 

To  make  him  answer ;  for  his  voice  to  her 
(Although  she  knew  it  not)  was  now  as  dear 
As  sunlight  to  the  flower,  as  music  is 
To  him  most  dear  who  soon  no  more  shall  hear. 
Stories,  half  fact,  half  fancy,  he  had  heard 
From  men  whose  feet  had  wander'd  from  the 

tracks 
Then  known  to  few ;  strange  tales  and  stranger 

myths 

Of  northern  people  whom  the  cold  had  chill' d 
And  made  ferocious ;  monsters,  mighty-wing'd. 
Of  these  he  told  her,  as  she  sat  at  ease 
And  watch'd  his  face,  until  his   mood  would 

change 

And  he  would  paint  the  still'd  sea's  majesty 
E'er  rosy  dawn's  bright  hands  may  ruffle  it. 
And  ever  crouch'd,  all-silent,  in  the  prow 
The  little  Nepthys,  thinking  of  the  sands 

[127] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Of  that  far  home  where  softer  stars  beheld 
The  crawling  caravan,  the  solemn  palm, 
And  all  the  mute  immensities  in  stone. 


AS^D  once  it  seem'd  that  he  no  more  could 
speak, 

Although  she  question'  d  ;  could  but  gaze  at  her, 
Grown  mute  in  worship.     In  his  boat  they  were. 
Across  the  sea  light  breezes  landward  bore 
The  swirling  sea-mists  ;  but  the  setting  sun, 
Its  labors  ended,  made  these  travellers  — 
These  pure,  sweet  mists  —  as  golden  as  itself; 
And  while  they  slowly  shimmer'd  to  the  land, 
To  bless  the  trees  and  ever-silent  hills, 
And  cool  the  purpling  grapes  on  sun-parch'd 

vines, 

They  swathed  the  lovers  in  a  golden  sheen, 
And  made  the  boat  a  thing  of  mystery, 
A  place  for  dreams  to  home  in.     And  the  dream 
That  sometimes  comes  to  women  came  to  her 
Who  lay  amid  that  ghostly  wonderment 
Above  that  sapphire  sea.     The  spoken  word 
Was  still  unutter'd.     But  his  eyes  proclaim'd 
What  language  could  not,  what  no  words  might 

dare 

Amid  such  glory;  and  as  lower  dropp'd 
The  gleaming  ball  that  solaces  the  world 
She  lean'd  to  him,  yet  trembled  ;  questioning 
[  128] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


Within  herself  the  while  she  read  his  eyes, 

If  joy  like  hers,  brought  forth  in  golden  haze, 

Could  last  forever,  or  must  sometime  turn, 

Like  mists  at  night,  to  utter  joylessness. 

But  when  he  spoke,  her  doubts  were  all  dispell'd, 

And  it  seem'd  dawn  again.     "  Dear  love !  "  he 

cried, 

"  Pure  as  the  sea-mist  is  my  love  of  thee, 
And  thine  is  golden  as  its  memory. 
Bright  Venus  be  my  witness !     Thou  art  she 
Whose  song  has  won  me  from  black  infamies. 
Thou  knowest  all.     But  if  thou  pitiest 
One  who  because  of  his  unworthiness 
Now  loves  thee  more ;  and  if  thou,  too,  canst 

love 

One  who  is  but  the  toy  of  Destiny, 
Its  easy  tool,  lay  once  thy  sea-sweet  hand 
Upon  my  brow."     Then   from  her  place   she 

lean'd — 

All  white  and  golden  in  the  golden  mists — 
To  where  his  face,  like  an  impassion'd  star, 
Paled  wistfully  against  her.     In  his  hair 
Her  fingers  sheltered,  and  the  voice  of  her 
Reach'd  to  his  soul  as  though  a  wind  it  were, 
Breathed  for  his  spirit's  solace  and  his  peace. 
"  My  love  thou  art,  else  were  I  far  from  thee ; 
And  I  am  thine,  or  the  bright-misted  sea 
Had  never  heard  us  whisper."     While  she  spoke 
[  129] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


She  press'd  his  fair  face  upward,  reading  it 
With  anxious  eyes.     "  Ah !  never  have  I  loved," 
She  sigh'd  at  last,  "  nor  know  if  this  be  love 
That  seems  half  pain.     And  yet  when  thou  art 

near 

Life's  troubles  fade,  as  now  the  near  land  fades 
Behind  the  sweet  compassion  of  the  mist ; 
And  jagged  rocks  that  frown  o'er  treach'rous 

sands 

Are  hidden  lest  their  menace  frighten  us. 
Thou  hast  not  liken'd  me  to  things  that  pass, 
Pale    flowers,    doom'd    stars,    inconsequential 

things 

That  have  not  voice  nor  feeling.     In  his  songs 
Alcaeus  ever  likens  me  to  these, 
And  makes  his  love  a  moan ;  in  every  rose 
He  sees  me  with'ring,  and  the  winds  intone 
The   death-song   of  poor   Sappho."     But   her 

hand 

Was  fast  in  Phaon's  now — the  little  boat 
Quite    moveless    on    the   waters.     "  Nay ! "    he 

cried, 

"  I  am  no  singer.     On  the  sea  I  live. 
I  scorn  both  stars  and  roses;  and  the  winds, 
However  hard  they  blow,  dismay  me  not. 
A  flower  is  but  a  pretty  thing  to  toss 
At — "  Phaon  stopp'd,  rememb'ring  her  whose 

eyes 

[130] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


Still    gleam'd    behind   the   jasmines — "  at   thy 

feet," 

He  said  at  last,  "  where  I  would  ever  lie 
Heedless  of  fate,  while  thou  shouldst  weave  for 

me 
Thy    splendid    dreams.     Enswathed    in    Day's 

bright  haze 

Or  Night's  imperial  purple,  we  must  wend 
Our  way  to  death.     I  love  thee !     All  around 
The  mists  are  swirling;  thus  in  hell  they  swirl 
Who  once  were  joyous,  but  forever  now 
Bemoan  life's  misspent  moments.     Thee  I  love. 
Say  once  thou  lovest  me."     And  while  the  mists 
Hid  them  from  Nepthys  and  what  gods  might 

stare 

Un joyously  above  them,  to  his  lips 
Her   own  were   nearing.     All   that   threaten'd 

her— 

Grey  gods  and  greyer  future;  even  she, 
The  heavy-lidded  woman  of  the  night 
Who  sat  behind  the  jasmines — was  forgot 
In  that  one  moment.     And  with  eyes  half -closed 
She  murmur'd :  "  Phaon !  "     So  the  winds  might 

sigh 

On  drowsy  nights  when  the  bewilder'd  stars 
Grieve  for  earth's  lovers ;  so  might  sigh  the  sea 
When  Sorrow  draws  her  sable  cerements 
About  her  mouth's  compassion.     Then  his  lips 
[131] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


To  hers  descended;  and  while  Nepthys  dream'd 
Of  seon-weighted  Egypt,  and  the  dust 
That  mock'd  the  splendid  hopes  of  petty  men. 
The  lovers  vow'd  their  love's  immunity 
From  change  or  death.     Then  Silence  sat  with 

them 

The  while  again,  and  ever  yet  again 
Each  read  the  other's  eyes ;  or  gently  touch'd 
Hair  black  or  golden  and  all-wonderful, 
Because  belov'd.     And  Sappho  question'd  him 
Why  he,  then  deem'd  most  perfect  of  all  men, 
Should  find  in  her  perfection ;  but  his  words 
Were  vague,  as  words  are  ever  when  we  seek 
To  tell  what  beauty  is,  or  seems  to  us. 
"  I  love,"  he  said.     "  I  cannot  tell  thee  why. 
The  gods  have  stroked  thy  tresses  with  their 

hands, 

And  left  them  brighter  than  the  rays  that  dart 
From  sun-fed,  straight  Apollo;  o'er  thy  head 
Blue  skies  have  linger'd  till  their  loveliness 
Lies  lightly  on  thine  eyes.     No  poet  I. 
I  cannot  thread  my  wonder-haunted  words 
To  weave  about  thee.     He  whose  trade  it  is 
To  sing  of  stars,  of  lovers'  tragedies 
And  fairest  things,  can  number  thee  with  them, 
And  sing  thy  praises.     Look  thou  in  mine  eyes 
The  while  I  tell  thee  in  ill-chosen  speech 
How  well  I  love  thee.     Thou  art  beautiful. 
[  132] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


Thy  throat,  thy  hands,  thy  feet  are  wonderful ; 
Thy  voice  contains  the  pity  of  the  hills, 
The  sea's  deep  sorrow  and  its  joyousness. 
Thou  speakest,  and  the  treachery  of  Time 
Forgotten  is.     O  Sappho !  speak  to  me." 
But  still  the  girl  was  dreaming.     Ail  around 
The  sea  rock'd  idly,  while  the  golden  mists 
Fell  lightly  here,  and  there  as  lightly  rose 
And  moved  away ;  for  now  from  out  the  south 
A  breeze  was  puffing  faintly,  and  ere  long 
Would  lift  the  ghostly  burden  from  the  waves, 
And  let  the  gods  behold  these  innocents, 
Who  loved  despite  the  lasting  enmity 
'Twixt  god  and  man;  who  dream'd  and  fear'd 

them  not, 

Nor  even  thought  about  them.     And  at  last 
She  spoke,  whose  eyes  had  long  been  fix'd  on  his, 
Whose  love  he  had  awaken'd.     "  Love ! "   she 

said, 

And  low  her  voice  was  as  the  voice  of  one 
Who  knows  that  love  is  life's  sweet  mystery, 
And  death  its  sallow  f  oeman ;  "  though  my 

songs 

Like  dipping  swallows  leave  me,  and  the  speech 
That  slowly  comes  to  thee  to  me  is  swift 
As  color'd  wings  upon  the  air  of  noon, 
Yet  must  I  stammer  if  I  seek  to  tell 
The  love  I  bear  thee.     I  can  say  '  I  love ; ' 

[133] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Can  call  thee  by  thy  fragrance-laden  name, 
And  watch  thy  lashes'  shadow  on  thy  cheek. 
But  how  I  love  no  words  can  ever  tell. 
Above  the  rose  the  bee  dreams  heavily ; 
Above  the  sands,  winds  tremble;  and  the  night 
Presses  the  earth's  cool  beauty.     Who  can  sing 
Of  silent  passion?    Phaon,  thee  I  love. 
To  tell  thee  more  my  girl's  heart  knows  not  how, 
Nor  seeks  to  learn.     Ah!  hold  me  close  to  thee 
And  ask  no  questions.     Love  that  silent  is 
Lasts  ever  longer  than  the  love  that's  told. 
I  kiss  thy  lashes."     "  I,  the  mouth  of  thee," 
Her  lover  answer'd ;  "  with  thy  dreams  be  mine 
For  ever  mingled.     When  thou  silent  art 
I'll  know  thou  lovest,  and  I'll  kneel  by  thee 
Expecting  naught  save  silence's  caress, 
Dropp'd  from  thine  eyes  of  azure  wonderment." 
And  now  the  breeze  blew  stronger,  and  the  sail 
Fill'd  to  its  full  and  slowly  landward  bore 
The   happy-freighted  bark.     From   where   she 

sat 

The  little  slave,  still  singing  to  herself, 
Beheld  white  Mitylene,  with  its  walls 
Sentried  by  whisp'ring  lovers ;  with  its  wharves, 
Where  ships,  like  weary  pigeons,  lay  at  rest ; 
With  gilded  temples  and  white  palaces, 
Unconscious  of  their  doom.    Already  now 
The  western  skies  were  slowly  crimsoning; 
[  134  ]  ' 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


And  the  still  mists,  their  mission  being  done, 
Crept  from  the  sea  and  left  it  like  a  gem 
Of  wondrous  color,  purple,  emerald, 
Wine-red  and  partly  golden.     With  the  breeze 
Came   faint,   sweet    odors,    as   of   flowers   that 

bloom 

In  distant  gardens  where  pale  Loveliness 
Bends  graciously  above  them;  and  soft  hymns 
Soothed  the  still  air  that  erst  was  desolate. 
And  while  they  near'd  the  harbor,  and  the  slave 
Cool'd   her    small    hand   while    singing,    Phaon 

lean'd 

Once  more  to  Sappho.     "  Thus  our  life  shall  be, 
O  ever-now  Divinest!     Golden  be 
Thy  coming  years ;  and  when  Death  summons 

thee 

May  I  go  with  thee,  that  my  love  may  light 
Thy  footsteps  in  that  melancholy  home." 
But  Sappho  now  was  sad  as  was  the  hour, 
And  wish'd  it  all  were  yet  to  say  again, 
And  all  to  dream  of.     "  Thee  I  trust,"  she  said. 
"  My  love  is  thine ;  and  though  the  silent  mists 
Have  left  me  frighten'd,   and  the   gods  make 

mock 

Of  human  loves,  say  once  thou  lovest  me. 
Say  once  thou  lovest  me ;  that  when  To-day 
Lies  slain  upon  Time's  monstrous   catafalque, 
And  Night  beholds  us  with  great  tenderness 
[135] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


And  much  compassion,  I  may  dream  of  it, 
And  bless  it,  Phaon,  for  its  gift  of  thee." 
And  Phaon  trembled  as  he  touch'd  her  cheek. 
"  I  love  thee,  Sweet,"  he  whisper'd.     And  the 

while 

The  boat  crept  homeward,  still  he  cried  to  her : 
"  I  love  thee,  love  thee ! "     And  the  light  was 

gone 
When  they  were  come  to  where,  with  lower'd 

sail, 

Their  boat  was  beach'd  upon  the  golden  sands 
And   Nepthys    roused   her   mistress    from   her 

dreams. 

For  still  she  heard  him  whisper,  heard  him  cry : 
"  I  love  thee,  Sappho !  "     And  throughout  all 

time 
Those  words   shall  tremble  outward;   for  our 

vows 

Endure  beyond  the  frailness  of  the  lips 
That  give  them  utt'rance,  as  in  dreams  we  see 
The  one  most  loved,  though  Fate's  conspiracy 
Deprives  us  of  her  presence  and  her  love. 


[136] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


ND  when,  behind  the  jasmines,  in  the 

house 

Where  true  love  never  enter'd,  Chloris 
heard 

Vague  rumors  of  this  wondrous  love-affair, 
She  laugh'd,  while  heaved  her  bosom.     "  When 

I  will 

I'll  breathe  his  name  upon  the  twilight  air, 
And  he  shall  hear  and  come  to  me,"  she  said. 
"  For  when  I  sigh  the  moon  grows  passionate, 
And,  scornful  of  the  virgin  sisterhood, 
Whose  queen  she  is,  looks  longingly  to  earth 
And  yearns  for  dead  Endymion.     Who  is  she, 
This  untaught  girl,  this  Sappho,  to  compete 
With  me  whom  men  have  crown'd  the  Cyprian; 
Who  let  me  scorn  them  while  they  burn  for 

me 

And  hunger  for  my  kisses?  "     And  her  slave 
Bent  low  before  her,  fearful  lest  the  glance 
Behind  that  laughter  kill  her.     "  Sit,"  she  said, 
Rare  ointments  in  the  hollow  of  her  hands, 
"  That  I  may  bathe  thine  ivory-tinted  feet 
With  these  crush'd  petals  of  faint  hyacinths 
And  yellow  roses.     He  shall  come  to  thee 
If  thou  but  callest,  for  thy  voice  would  wake 
Diana's  lover  from  his  dreamless  sleep. 
Thy  foot  is  bruised,  O  Chloris ! "     But  as  yet 
[  137] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Such    things    unheeded    were    of    her    whose 

thought 

Was  still  of  Phaon.     In  the  chamber's  floor 
An  onyx  bath  was  fashion'd.     To  its  brim 
With  water  fill'd,  this  pool  reflected  her 
Who  stood  beside  it,  show'd  exquisitely 
Her  own  perfection ;  show'd  such  raven  hair 
As  Night  might  envy,  and  a  form  so  fair 
That  Day  outstretch'd  his  happy  arms  to  her, 
All  else  forgetting.     "  I  am  beautiful," 
She  said  at  last.     "  The  trembling  nymph  that 

bends 

Above  the  stilly  waters  in  a  wood 
Of  swaying  cedars,  is  less  white  than  I; 
Above  my  brows  a  mystery  lies  coil'd; 
And  when  I  look,  through  half-closed  eyes,  at 

men, 

They  sicken  till  I  love  them.     I  have  heard 
Much  talk  of  Sappho  and  her  gleaming  hair; 
Her  eyes  that  never  smoulder;  and  her  songs 
Of  swallows  and  a  love  she  never  knew. 
But  I  a  woman  am;  I  play  on  men. 
Empress  am  I  of  passion;  and  the  wind 
Which  sways  the  dust  that  breathed  and  found 

delight 

In  olden  aeons,  is  less  masterful 
Than  I  who   sway  that  dust  while  yet   't  is 

quick." 

[138] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


And  then  she  noted  how  the  trembling  slave 
Was  busied  with  her  sandals.     "  Go  !  "  she  said, 
"  And  seal  the  wicket,  that  no  foot  may  tread 
My  purple  rugs  till  Phaon  comes  again, 
Of  love  expectant.     From  my  sight  conceal 
The  golden  sunlight ;  let  me  hear  no  song, 
And  strew  no  roses  on  my  leopard  skins. 
He    loves    me.     I    have    charm'd    him    to    his 

soul; 

So  webb'd  him  in  a  net  of  witchery 
That  Hercules  would  falter  at  the  task 
Of  freeing  him.     He  loves  me !     That  says  all. 
I  lured  him  from  the  wiles  of  Soprian 
Whose  shoulders  were  more  beautiful  than  mine ; 
Yet  she,  despite  the  magic  of  her  smile, 
Went  to  her  death  the  day  I  beckon'd  him. 
Let  Sappho  have  the  plaudits  of  the  world, 
Fit   praise    for    shallow    rhymesters ;    women's 

lips 

Mean  more  than  gold  or  laurels.     Phaon  is 
Man  as  gods  make  them,  simple,  primitive, 
My  one  desire ;  and  till  the  chilling  mists 
Sober  my  passion  and  constrain  my  love, 
I  ask  for  naught  but  Phaon  of  the  gods. 
Behind  the  fragrance  of  my  lattices 
I'll  breathe  his  name  until  he  comes  to  me 
To  leave  me  never ;  then,  his  lips  on  mine, 
I'll  fold  him  in  the  crimson  of  my  love 

[139] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


And— Go!     The     wicket!"     But     she     stood 

alone 
Amid  the  jasmine  fragrance  and  the  gloom. 

A  3D  so  it  happened.      For  as    dreams  are 
born 

For  Fate  to  shatter,  so  this  first,  sweet  love 
That  morning'd  in  the  hush  of  Sappho's  heart, 
A  place  still  virginal,  was  doom'd  as  is 
The  golden  promise  of  impassion'd  dawn. 
Thus  it  has  been  since  with  her  sister  orbs 
The  earth  was  born  to  prove  impermanence ; 
And  Death,  far  sterner  than  the  gentler  Sleep, 
Became  Life's  lord  and  Fate's  grim  arbiter. 
A  little  while  on  Phaon's  heart  reposed 
The  head  of  Sappho,  as  on  other  hearts 
Fair  heads  have  rested ;  but  no  lips  have  told 
A  love  as  fond  in  words  so  delicate 
That  now  we  mourn  the  utter  loss  of  them. 
A  little  while  the  gods  were  merciful. 
And  Mitylene  wonder'd.     For  by  day 
They  walk'd  together  in  the  market-place, 
And  men  were  silent  when  they  saw  the  light 
Upon  the  lovers'  faces;  and  at  night 
Behind  the  vines  upon  her  portico 
They  sat  and  whisper'd,  while  the  moonlight 

kiss'd 

The  still'd  sea's  tragic  face.     Then  no  man  saw 
[  140  ] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


Love's  perfect  flow'ring,  or  the  mysteries 

Of  that  rare  hour  when,  with  averted  eyes 

E'en  Fate  itself  a  little  while  is  kind. 

The  short  night  through,  while  Time  watch'd 

wearily 

The  order'd  march  of  the  resplendant  stars, 
Well  knowing  what  must  follow,  side  by  side 
They  sat  and  whisper'd ;  and  the  dark  about 
Thrill'd  as  with  music.  In  the  moonlight 

gleam'd 

White  Mitylene,  but  it  seem'd  to  them 
A  ghostly  city,  where  their  dreams  might  home 
But  no  man  ever  enter.     Thus  a  while, 
A  little  while,  dear  Joy  abode  with  them, 
And  Sappho  ask'd  no  more.     In  wonderment 
Days  came  and  went,  and  left  such  memories, 
Such  perfect  petals  of  flower-like  happenings, 
As,  fadeless  on  the  highways  of  the  Past, 
Make  dreamless  Age  less  bitter.     For  at  last, 
Unknown  to  Sappho,  who  of  Phaon's  love 
As  sure  was  as  a  girl  is  ever  sure, 
What  had  to  be  crept  in  upon  the  dream, 
The  gods  agreeing.     Nature  pays  no  heed, 
Nor  deems  such  matters  of  grave  consequence 
When  Hybla's  crest  is  daily  to  be  bathed 
In  golden  fire ;  while  her  beloved  trees 
Are  yet  to  nurture,  and  the  holy  grain 
Forth  from  the  solemn  fields  is  yet  to  win. 
[141  ] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


The  hopeless  passion  of  the  gusty  wind, 
Sea-tragedies  and  star-births,  cataclysms 
In  older  constellations  than  our  own — 
These    Nature    heeds;    our    births    and   bitter 

deaths, 

And  all  the  little  loves  that  fly  between, 
Are  naught  to  her ;  ourselves  but  puppets  are 
Whose  clamor  vexes,  but  is  soon  forgot. 
And  so  when  Phaon,  weary  of  a  love 
So  pure  as  Sappho's,  touch'd  her  hair  no  more, 
(So  fair  the  coin  one  cannot  understand!) 
Or  touch'd  it  coldly,  or  sat  moodily 
The  while  she  pour'd  her  soul  out  in  a  mist 
Of  musical  endearment,  on  their  seats 
The  gods  sat  stonily.     Beneath  the  trees 
That  graced  the  palace  gardens  still  were  seen 
The  two  I  tell  of;  where  the  gods  were  praised, 
Or  in  the  market  places ;  and  again 
All  Mitylene  wonder'd.     For  the  light 
Show'd  Phaon  moody,  but  reveal'd  the  love 
Of  their  beloved  Sappho.     Night  by  night 
He  bore  her  seaward ;  but  the  waters  heard 
No  sighs  or  whisper'd  love-words  save  her  own. 
And  when  at  last  his  spirit  sensed  the  call 
Behind  the  jasmines,  heard  the  cry  of  her 
Who  laugh'd  the  while  she  call'd  him,  sure  of 

him, 

His  heart  leap'd  up,  as  when,  on  tempests  fed, 
[142] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


The  awful  flames  from  subterranean  glooms 
Leap  up  and  out  and,  flaring  fearfully, 
Shock  with  red  horror  the  repose  of  night. 
And  even  then,  aware  how  base  he  was, 
He  stopp'd  his  ears  to  that  insidious  call, 
And  strove  to  let  the  beauty  of  the  dusk 
Win  him  to  chasteness.     But  a  passion  chill'd 
Bleak  as  the  moon  is,  which  terrific  suns 
Warm  not,  nor  waken;  and  his  love  was  dead, 
And  soon  that  wicket  open'd  to  his  touch. 

SWIFT-WING'D  is  news  that  brings  unhap- 
piness. 

That  very  day  a  crone,  a  broken  thing 
Whom  hate  had  aged  and  malice  so  deform'd 
That  none  could  deem  her  woman,  hobbled  up 
And  call'd  for   Sappho.        She,  with  gold  in 

hand, 

Bade  Nepthys  lead  her  to  the  portico 
And  bring  her  cakes  and  honey,  fruit  and  milk, 
A  staff  to  walk  with ;  but  the  crone,  when  come, 
So  froze  her  welling  kindness  with  an  eye 
Spared  by  the  years,  that  Sappho  shrank  from 

her 

As  from  a  horror.     When  the  tale  was  told, 
The  crack'd  lips  mumbling  over  Phaon's  fall 
As  though  it  were  a  very  pleasantry, 
She  gave  her  gold  and  bade  the  bent  thing  go 
[  143  ] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


But  never  more  ask  alms,  or  aught,  of  her. 
It  was  not  yet  high  noon.     Across  the  sky, 
Bluer  than  rain-wash'd  turquoise,  fleecy  clouds 
Were  slowly  trailing,  as  when  full-fed  sheep 
Wander  the  meadows  over;  on  the  sea 
White,  listless  sails  hung  idly  in  the  sun 
Above  as  listless  boats  and  fishermen. 
A  little  while  and  teasing  winds  would  drive 
Their  fleecy  flocks  the  heaven's  wide  meadows 

through ; 

Would  lift  the  waves,  and  fill  those  idle  sails 
And  make  the  boats  leap  onward.     Soon  would 

come 

The  men  to  Mitylene,  with  their  catch, 
And,  showing  finny  beauties,  would  be  told 
The    news     of    Phaon.     They    would    laugh, 

perhaps, 

And  soon  forget ;  or  wonder  what  in  him 
Fair  Sappho  saw  to  waste  her  love  on  him. 
But  she,  the  blue-eyed,  stood  beside  the  vines 
And  watch'd  the  crone  go  dwindling  down  the 

road, 

For  speech  too  heavy-hearted.     It  was  done, 
This  first  white  hope;  this  first  fair  dream  of 

hers, 

This  golden  expectation.     To  the  gods 
She  raised  no  hands  in  protest,  made  no  cry, 
But  ached  in  silence,  as  a  woman  will, 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


While  men  uplift  the  anger  of  their  arms 
And  curse  the  gods.     And  now  the  dusty  road 
Was  rid  of  its  bent  burden ;  and  the  town 
Quiver'd  beneath  the  noon-glare.     By  the  vines 
The  girl  still  stood  when  Nepthys  came  to  her 
And  touch' d  her  shoulder.     To  her  cheek  she 

laid 
Brown    fingers    of    compassion.     "  Dear,"    she 

said, 

(How  low  the  voice  was  of  that  little  slave!) 
"  Dear    Mistress,    Sappho !     In    my    Egypt's 

sands 

Sleep  many  who  have  loved  unhappily, 
Yet  now  know  peace.     Thou,  too,  shalt  know  at 

last 

The  sweet  f orgetfulness  that  makes  the  dead 
The  envy  of  the  living.     All  around 
Life's  irridescent  bubbles  tempt  our  grasp, 
But  shatter  when  we  touch  them.     Ah !   The 

dead 

That  sleep  within  my  Egypt  envy  not 
The  hunger  of  the  living.     He  that  dreams 
Escapes  much  care,  much  sorrow;  far  above 
The  petty  disappointments  of  to-day, 
To-morrow's   fore-doom'd  hopes,   the   dreamer 

treads 

Heights     where    the    dawn    is    never    night- 
eclipsed." 

[  145] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


The  while  she  spoke  her  mistress  look'd  away 
To  where  the  sails  still  gleam'd;  but  now  she 

turn'd 

And  fix'd  such  eyes  of  question  on  the  slave 
That  Nepthys  knew  her  thought,  and  answer'd 

her. 

"  A  child  I  am,"  she  said,  "  but  very  wise. 
I  ask  my  gods  for  nothing,  save  to  sleep 
At  last  in  Egypt  where  I  first  awoke. 
The  soundless  deserts  taught  me  long  ago 
That  all  illusion  is  except  the  dream. 
And  thou  who  dreamest,  in  such  solemn  things 
As  stars  and  starry  chantings,  in  the  flowers 
Whose  exhalations  are  more  sweet  than  sighs 
From  lips  that  hint  their  own  inconstancy, 
Must  find  thy  loves.     The  earth  is  beautiful. 
Between  the  heedless  sky  and  this  sweet  soil 
Is  much  to  hold  thy  wonder.     In  the  trees 
Is  peace,  is  inspiration ;  in  the  cloud — 
That  airy  traveller  to  lands  unknown — 
Enough  to  fill  thy  heart  with  restlessness, 
Thine  eyes  with  longing.     Ah !  so  wonderful 
The  world  about  us.     Love  thou  loveliness, 
And  thou  shalt  yet  be  happy.     Leave  to  them 
Whose  hollow  laughter  shocks  the  universe 
And  mocks  the  gods,  the  loves  that  flare  and 

fall— 

The  loves  of  men.     The  thin-flank'd  lioness 
[146] 


SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 


Is  surer  than  is  woman  of  her  mate; 

For  he  is  brother  to  the  bodiless  wind, 

Flies  here,  and  there,  and  loves  as  winds  may 

love — 

Heedless  of  aught  so  they  but  have  their  will." 
But  Sappho  answer'd  not.     Against  the  vines 
She  lean'd  her  cheek  and,  gazing  on  the  sea, 
Stood  as  one  stands  above  a  buried  hope 
With  eyes  that  see  not.     What  the  gods  decree 
Must    be    despite    our    wishes.     Through    the 

years 

Each  bears  his  burden ;  only  Death  may  cut 
The  cord  that  binds  us  to  our  destiny 
Of  joy  or  sorrow.     But  she  knew  it  not 
Who  gazed  so  sadly  on  the  seas  where  now 
The  glory  mock'd  her ;  knew  not  that  in  time 
The  ache  would  pass,  and  other  dreams  would 

come 
And  end  as  dreams  end.     She  was  young;  was 

true; 

As  all  that's  young  is  true  and  beautiful 
And  very  holy.     And  the  setting  sun, 
When  the  frail  boats  were  safely  gather'd  home 
And  splendor  look'd  its  last  upon  the  sea, 
Still  saw  her  standing  there,  all  white  and  gold, 
Longing  for  night,  and  silence,  and  the  stars. 


[147] 


(ENONE 


GENONE 


HE  woods  were  waking.     In  the  steely 


Preceding  dawn-flush,  sympathetic  trees 
Trembled  a  little  when  the  morning  wind, 
Itself  just  loosen'd  from  the  Caves  of  Pearl, 
Touch'd  the  still  leaves,  intoning  fitfully 
The  advent  of  the  splendor-follow'd  Day. 
The  birds  still  silent  were,  save  when  the  dove 
Coo'd  from  a  bough  its  thrice-repeated  note 
Of  constant  sorrow,  or  in  airy  nests 
A  hungry  fledgling  cheep'd  its  discontent. 
The  keepers  of  eternal  mysteries, 
The  trees,  had  held  their  secrets  through  the 

night, 

Brooding  perhaps  in  green  solemnity 
Above  the  ancient  Mother,  whence  they  rose 
And  where  at  last  they  must  return  again 
[15!] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


With  all  that  made  a  noise  beneath  the  stars, 
With  all  that  loved,  with  all  that  walk'd  alone. 
And  now  aware  that  from  its  monstrous  urn 
Day's  glory  soon  would  over-flood  the  world, 
They  waited  with  a  grave  expectancy 
The  daily  wonder ;  but  their  hearts  were  sad — 
As  all  is  sad  except  unthinking  men, 
As  all  is  sad  that  truly  understands. 

THERE   lay  beneath  the  gravest   of  these 
trees 

Three  graceful  nymphs — the  pale  Ocyroe, 
Whose  love-tale  was  the  wonder  of  the  woods ; 
Lanassa,  not  yet  old  enough  to  love, 
And  therefore  happy,  though  she  knew  it  not; 
And  Thornax  of  the  unpersuaded  eyes 
And  reedy  laughter.     At  the  feet  of  them 
Wild  roses  cluster'd,  screening  them  from  all 
That  peer'd  and  pried  at  night-time ;  save  when 

came 

From  out  its  own  secluded  hiding-place 
The  amber-color'd  moth,  a-fluttering 
Along  Night's  ebon  aisles,  or  from  his  bough 
Look'd  down  the  still'd  and  wond'ring  night 
ingale. 

And  well  it  was  the  roses  shelter'd  them 
While  Dian  slumber'd,  or  had  wander'd  far 
To  find  Endymion ;  for  the  satyrs  roam'd 
[152] 


CENONE 


Those  woods  at  night,  and  centaurs ;  and  the 

dark 

Oft  startled  was  by  anguish-noted  cries 
That  drove  the  dread  wolf,  slinking,  to  his  lair. 
And  many  a  nymph,  whose  face  in  Dian's  train 
Show'd  fairer  than  a  lily's,  answer'd  not 
When  the  pale  Huntress  call'd  her  by  her  name 
While  yet  the  sun  was  rising,  and  the  hounds 
Bay'd  the  day's  welcome  and  dismay'd  the  deer ; 
And  many  a  nymph  from  that  chaste  sisterhood 
Was  sternly  banish'd,  and  for  evermore 
Roam'd  all  alone  the  odor-breathing  woods 
And  was  as  one  that  is  accounted  dead. 
And  now,  just  waken'd,  on  the  sleeping  twain 
Lanassa  gazed.     One  arm  beneath  her  head, 
Her  bosom  veil'd  by  silky  loveliness 
Spun  from  the  gods'  own  looms,  her  smiling  lips 
Suggesting  dreams  as  golden,  Thornax  lay 
Beside  her  graver  sister.     Black  her  hair 
As  the  soft  eyes  of  the  beloved  Night 
Whose  child  she  was,  and  whose  unhappiness 
Had  long  become  her  heavy  heritage. 
What    dreams,    Lanassa    wonder'd,    now    were 

theirs, 

The  one  so  rosy  and  the  one  so  pale, 
So  gentle  and  so  silent?     While  she  gazed 
One  laugh'd  and  murmur'd — Thornax;  but  the 

face 

[153] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Of  her  whose  hair  was  dark,  Ocyroe, 
Grew  ever  sadder,  as  if  Day  had  breathed 
A  message  in  the  tiny  ears  of  her, 
And   shock'd   the   soothing  witchery   of  sleep. 
Then   droop'd  Lanassa   slowly   over  her, 
And   kiss'd  her   lashes.     "  Wake,    Ocyroe ! " 
She  whisper'd  fondly,  as  the  other  stirr'd 
And  open'd  slowly  eyes  of  weariness 
Against  the  eyes  above  her.     "  It  is  day ! 
Like  vestals  when  the  sacrifice  is  done 
The  morning  mists  have  slowly  pass'd  away ; 
The  woods  contain  them  till  they  disappear 
Like  music's  spirit  in  the  cool,  clean  air. 
The  grass  is  silver-gleaming ;  but  I  see 
As  faint  a  blush  upon  the  mountains'  crest 
As  tints  the  brow  of  Venus,  when,  surprised 
At  dawn  by  Eros,  she  awakes  from  sleep 
And  smiles  beneath  her  kisses.     It  is  day !  " 
And  while  with  calm  insistence  brighter  grew 
The  skies  above  them,  and  the  golden  flood 
Still  westward  rolling,  left  the  grey  skies  blue, 
The  waken'd  nymph  rose  slowly  to  her  knees 
And  kiss'd  white  hands  to  the  departed  night. 
"Sweet     Night,     farewell!"     she     whisper'd. 

"  Come  thou  soon 
Behind  the  sober  mystery  of  dusk 
And  bring  to  me,  whose  heart  so  heavy  is, 
Thy  quietude  and  thy  delicious  rest. 
[  154] 


OENONE 


Sweet  Night,  farewell ! "     Then  turn'd  she  to 

the  one 

Whose  eager  face  had  sadden'd,  kneeling  there 
So  close  beside  her.     "  In  my  dreams  I  see," 
Said  she,  "  thy  face,  Lanassa.     Be  not  sad 
Because  I  love  the  mirror-holding  Night 
And  not  the  Day.     Upon  that  magic  disc 
Our  loves  are  pictured.     All  that  cannot  be 
Thereon  enacted  is;  and,  fancy-fed, 
Sad  hearts  that  else  would  sicken,  else  would 

cease 

Their  unconsider'd  beating,  grow  most  strong." 
Unknown  to  them,  while  yet  Ocyroe 
Was  speaking  thus,  and  fair  Lanassa  loosed 
Her  heavy   hair,  the   third  nymph,   Thornax, 

woke 

And,  saying  nothing,  listen'd ;  and  when  turn'd 
The  sadder  one  to  shake  her  tenderly 
And  bid  her  greet  the  morning,  lo !  her  eyes 
Were  bright  with  mischief.     "  I  have  heard," 

she  said, 

"  Thy  pretty  story.     When  I  sleep  I  dream 
Of  others  than  Lanassa.     There  is  one 
That  walks  with  Paris  when  he  tends  his  sheep, 
Whose  eyes  are  joyous.     I  have  follow'd  him 
From  tree  to  tree  and  berried  bush  to  bush, 
All  fearful  lest  he  see  me.     Once  he  sang 
A  song  as  wistful  as  a  lover's  is 
[  155] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Who  knows  that  on  his  darling  ever  glare 
The  lidless  eyes  of  agate-hearted  Time. 
Of  him  I  dream  while  thou,  Ocyroe, 
Dreamest     of     sweet     Lanassa."     Then     she 

laugh'd, 

Until  it  seem'd  a  thousand  birds  awoke 
And  sang  the  morning  and  the  joy  of  it, 
Until  the  woods  re-echo'd.     In  the  east 
The  sun  so  high  was  now  that  one  by  one, 
The  trees  received  their  blessing  at  its  hands 
And  every  dell  grew  golden.     In  the  grass 
The  nymphs  still  lay,  until  the  deer's  low  call 
Should  tell  them  they  might  venture  to  the  pool 
And  bathe  unseen.     And  now  Lanassa  spoke: 
"  I  think  that  Paris  would  CEnone  wed 
Were  she  but  kind,"  she  said.     "  One  droning 

noon 

I  saw  them  standing  where  the  wind-wreck'd  oak 
Bridges  the  stream  that  fills  our  favor 'd  pool. 
And  long  they  whisper'd.     He  impassion'd  was. 
He  seem'd  more  king  than  shepherd,  and  the 

skin 

That  hid  his  gleaming  shoulders  from  the  sun 
Was  worn  as  though  a  royal  robe  it  were. 
So  close  I  crept,  my  pale  Ocyroe, 
I  almost  heard  him  woo  her ;  but  I  know 
That  what  he  said  was  very  beautiful 
Because  OEnone's  face  was  poppy-red, 

[  156  ] 


(ENONE 


Although  she  would  not  answer.     In  my  mind 

I  heard  him  beg  what  Pan  once  begg'd  of  me — 

That  I  would  kiss  that  horrid  mouth  of  his 

And  twine  my  fingers  in  his  musty  beard ; 

But  though  the  lips  that  ask'd  so  small  a  thing 

Were  very  tempting,  yet  she  turn'd  from  him 

And  fled  the  while  he  call'd  her.     In  my  heart 

I  pitied  Paris."     But  Ocyroe 

Now  pale  was  as  the  lily,  whose  retreat 

In  deepest  dells  is,  where  by  night  and  day 

It  droops  above  its  sorrow.     From  the  nymphs 

She  turn'd  her  face,  and  they,  still  fashioning 

Their  silky  tresses  to  their  own  content, 

Were  thinking  of  GEnone.     "  With  the  stars," 

Said  Thornax,  laughing,  "  she  has  held  much 

speech. 

She  reads  the  future.     If  thou  pleasest  her 
She  promises  a  husband ;  anger  her, 
And  thou  art  doom'd  to  press  alone  the  fern 
Until  the  leaves  in  pity  cover  thee. 
Let  Paris  wed  her.     She  will  summon  us 
To  bind  their  brows  with  garlands,  sing  to  her, 
And  dance,  perhaps,  until  our  hair  blows  free, 
While  satyrs  breathe  on  joyous-noted  pipes 
Airs  as  illusive  as  the  thing  we  love." 
And  then  she  sigh'd.     For  Sorrow  is  the  name 
Of  Joy's  own  shadow;  and  the  gods  know  well 
That  sighs  must  follow  laughter.     In  the  woods 

[157] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


These  truths  are  known,  as  on  the  moody  seas, 

And  where  hot  stars  magnificently  flame 

Amid  their  colder  sisters.     Only  we, 

Puff'd  specks  of  passion  and  inconsequence 

On  winds  as  unsubstantial  —  only  we 

Who  enter  into  being  with  a  cry 

And  crying  leave  it,  deem  us  masterful 

And  curbless  in  our  grasp  for  happiness. 


A^D  while    of  him   whose  steps    had  never 
led 

To  where  she  waited,  Thornax  ever  dream'd, 
Lanassa  turn'd  to  where  Ocyroe 
Was  kneeling,  silent.     "  Should  (Enone  wed, 
Thy  hands  must  weave  the  marriage  wreaths," 

she  said. 

"  These  many  years  her  solemn  eyes  seek  thine 
Whene'er  we  meet;  she  loves  thy  gentleness, 
Thy  pale,  pure  beauty.     Thornax  lovely  is. 
But  Thornax  is  the  morning's  ;  thou  and  night 
Belov'd  are  of  CEnone.     Should  she  wed 
Thy  voice  must  lead  the  golden  marriage  song 
And  chant  the  prayer  to  Venus;  thou  alone 
Canst  deck  her  bed  with  violet  and  fern." 
But  Thornax  now  had  risen.     "  Come  !  "   she 

said. 
"  I  heard  just  then  the  deer's   call.     Let  us 

haste 

[  158] 


OENONE 


To  where  the  pool  lies  gleaming.     Thou  shalt 

see, 

Demure  Lanassa,  how  such  pearls  adorn 
My  body's  whiteness  when  I  plunge  therein 
And  rise  again  to  tease  thee.     Then  I'll  haste 
To  those  same  hills  where  Paris  with  his  sheep 
Wanders  each  morn  in  moody  discontent ; 
But  if  my  heart's  desire,  the  gentle  youth 
Of  whom  I  dream  while  thou,  Ocyroe, 
Dreamest  of  us,  if  he  be  otherwheres 
I'll  pray  the  gods  to  scatter  wide  the  flock 
And  keep  him  from  GEnone."    And  before 
The  others  knew  it,  she  had  slipp'd  away ; 
And  soon  that  silv'ry  laugh  of  hers  was  heard 
Faint  grown  and  then   far  fainter,   down  the 

woods, 

As  free  from  care  as  is  the  light-wing'd  lark's 
Above  contented  meadows.     Then  again 
Lanassa  turn'd  to  pale  Ocyroe 
And  touch'd  her  shoulder.     "  Thou  hast  said  no 

word 
To   still,"    she   said,    "my   prattle.     Thornax 

sighs, 

And  laughs  as  quickly.     Thou  as  silent  art 
As  the  dear  trees  around  us.     Art  thou  sad 
Because  CEnone  would  fair  Paris  wed?  " 
And  even  then  the  nymph  no  answer  made, 
But  laid  her  fingers  on  the  other's  head 
[159] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


And  press'd  it  slowly  backward,  till  the  eyes 
So  brown  and  innocent  look'd  back  in  hers. 
And  then  she  spoke.     "  The  air  is  warm,"  she 

said; 
"  And  Thornax  waits   our  coming.     In  thine 

eyes 

I  see  but  happy  trust  and  wonderment; 
Thy  lips   are  curved  in  childhood's   pure  de 
light; 

Thy  brow  serene  is.     As  thou  growest  old 
With  these  our  leafy  sisters,  be  thy  lot 
As  happy  and  as  care-free  as  is  theirs. 
Their  peace  be  thine.     But  question  not  again 
Why  I  am  sad."     Then  lower'd  she  her  hand 
And  led  the  way  beneath  wide-reaching  oaks 
And  gracious  cedars  till  they  saw  the  pool 
Where  Thornax  now  was   bathing.     "  In  my 

heart 

I  think  thou  lovest  him,"  Lanassa  said, 
And  fain  had  tarried.     But  Ocyroe, 
Her  arms  upraised  to  where  the  brooding  gods 
Sit  and  decree  how  loves  shall  ever  end, 
Ran  swiftly  forward  past  the  startled  deer 
And  left  the  little  nymph  still  questioning. 


[160] 


(ENONE 


INNUMBER'D  bees  were  humming  o'er 

the  fields 

'When  Paris  turn'd  his   footsteps  to  the 

woods, 

His  tasks  forgetting.     He  had  left  his  sheep 
With   that  same  youth,  whom   Thornax  from 

afar 

Still  watch'd  with  eyes  of  longing ;  sad  at  heart, 
And  thinking  of  CEnone,  to  himself 
He  breathed  her  name,  nor  noted  at  his  feet 
The  forest's  hued  and  yielding  carpetry, 
Nor  aught  about  him.     This  was  Priam's  son, 
And  heir  to  Troy's  huge  tragedy.     Ere  birth 
A  child  of  menace  to  his  father's  house, 
That  father  doom'd  his  innocence  to  death; 
But  he  who  should  have  put  him  to  the  sword 
To  Ida's  slopes  convey'd  him,  where  at  last 
Rough  shepherds  found  him  and.  had  made  him 

theirs, 

Saving  what  else  had  perish'd.     Thus  the  gods 
Whose    wills    are    adamant,   whose   hearts    are 

hard, 

Prepared  to  use  him  as  an  instrument 
To  fill  grey  hell  and  ruin  half  a  world. 
But  now  he  was  still  young,  still  innocent, 
A  youth  whom  oft  a  wayward  nymph  had  loved, 
And  found  unpractised  in  the  arts  of  love 

[161  ] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


And  constant  to  CEnone.     Naught  he  knew 
Of  all  the  horror  that  must  follow  him 
In  later  years,  when  Helen's  treachery 
Had  drawn  its  bloody  destiny  to  Troy ; 
And  naught  he  knew  of  how  tEnone,  too, 
Would  sometime  pay  the  price  of  constancy 
To  one  so  doom'd  as  he ;  would  seek  him  out 
In  other  silences  and  other  glooms 
To  prove  what  love  is  when  one  loves  so  well. 

PAST    hoary    oaks    and    pines    whose    fra 
grances 

Are  sweeter  than  the  odors  of  the  East, 
Unmindful  even  of  the  choruses 
Of  happy  birds  above  him,  on  he  went 
To  where  he  knew  the  nymph  awaited  him, 
A  leafy  place  where  oft  the  night  had  heard 
Impassion'd  pleas  and  whisper'd  promises, 
And  utter'd  dreams.    For  she,  of  all  the  maids 
Whose  beauty  glimmer'd  in  the  woods  at  dusk, 
The  fairest  was,  and  much  he  worshipp'd  her 
And  much  she  loved.     And  so,  when  her  retreat 
At  last  confronted  him,  and  on  her  couch, 
Sweet  grasses  weaving  for  a  coronal, 
He  saw  her  seated,  to  his  lips  there  came 
Mad  words  of  longing.     "  Never  now  may  Sleep 
Draw  his  soft  plumes  across  my  weary  eyes, 
CEnone,  sweet  CEnone !  "     Thus  he  cried 

[162] 


GENONE 


While  slow  her  eyes   were  raised  to  welcome 

him. 

"  My  heart  a-flame  is,  and  I  cannot  rest 
By  night  or  day;  I  would  that  I  were  dead 
That  Death's  grey  hands  might  cool  my  fever'd 

heart." 
And    then    QSnone    teased    him.     "  See ! "    she 

said; 

"  This  crown  I  weave  to  place  upon  the  brows 
Of  white  Diana  when  she  asks  of  me 
Which  way  the  surly  boar  went,  or  the  deer 
With  splendid  antlers  press'd  against  his  neck 
And  eyes  of  brown  affright.     If  thou  wilt  smile 
I'll  place  it  on  thy  curl-enamor'd  head 
And  wake  Apollo's  envy.     If  thou  wilt 
I'll  crown  myself,  and  thou  shalt  worship  me 
And  kiss  my  pulses.     See!     My  tawny  hair 
Is  almost  golden  when  I  deck  it  thus." 
And  then  she  crown'd  herself,  and  laugh'd  at 

him 
Whose    eyes    unhappy   were.     "  Why  standest 

thou 
Thus  mute  ?  "  she  question'd.     "  In  the  night 

there  came 

A  satyr  here  who  sang  sweet  songs  to  me 
Of  hush'd  retreats  in  other  woods  than  these, 
And  bade  me  seek  them.     He  has  promised  me 
Tall  ferns  and  matchless  grottoes,  crystal  pools 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


By  winds  unruffled,  comfortable  swards 
Circled  by  oaks  and  brooding  cypresses. 
There  meets  at  dawn  the  forest  sisterhood 
To  hymn  the  day ;  and  there  at  night  comes  Pan 
Untutor'd  Pan,  whose  airs  so  wondrous  are 
That  coldest  nymphs  adore  him.     But  at  noon, 
When  the  bright  air  is  warm  and  tremulous, 
And  naught  is  stirring,  all  deserted  are 
Those  em'rald  stretches,  and  the  gods  gaze  down 
And  find  delight  in  their  serenity." 
But  Paris  now  was  seated  at  her  side. 
"  Be  kind ! "   he   cried.     "  I   care   for  naught 

but  thee. 

Thy  talk  is  of  the  forest,  of  green  swards 
And  shaggy  satyrs ;  whisper  once  *  I  love  ' 
That  I  may  hearten'd  be,  may  lift  my  lips 
To  thine  for  comfort  ere  I  pale  and  die." 
And  still  CEnone  teased  him.  "  In  thy  lips 
The  crimson  tells  me  thou  art  far  from 

death;" 

She  said,  and  eyed  him  closely.     "  On  my  cheek 
Thy  hand  is  warm ;  thy  heart  is  riotous ; 
The  odor  of  thy  hair  is  very  sweet. 
And  shouldst  thou  come  to-morrow  to  this  place 
And  find  me  gone,  the  rising  moon  would  hear 
Thy  vows  of  constancy  to  one  more  fair, 
More  kind  than  is  CEnone.     While  he  sang, 
The  satyr  eyed  me  with  such  wistfulness 
[  164  ] 


GENONE 


That,  had  he  beckon'd,  I—"     But  Paris  now 

Was  red  with  anger.     "  Could  I  follow  him 

To  where  he  hides,"  he  said,  "  this  very  noon 

His  cries  should  teach  thee  that  thy  Paris  is 

Thy  lover,  cold  CEnone."     Then  again 

His  anger  left  him.     "  That  I  love,"  he  cried, 

"  Thou  knowest  well ;  and  that  my  passion  is 

Enduring  as  is  Time.     When  nevermore 

I  breathe  thy  name  amid  the  silences 

Of  blessed  night,  or  when  the  glory  warms 

The  void  above  us,  from  my  lips  no  more 

Shall  whispers  issue ;  when  no  more  I  see 

Thy  fancied  form  beside  me,  to  the  light 

And  earth's  fresh  beauty  shall  these  eyes  be 

closed. 

CEnone!     Love  me!     Perish'd  loveliness 
Is  everywhere  about  us.     From  the  woods 
White  nymphs  have  vanish'd;   from  the  hills 

have  pass'd 

Unnumber'd  shepherds;  and  the  loves  of  them, 
Their  whispers   and  their  murmurs   and  their 

dreams 

Are  futile  as  the  sighs  of  yesterday. 
A  little  while,  (Enone,  thou  and  I 
May  walk,  as  did  those  others,  'neath  the  skies 
And  talk  of  stars,  companionable  trees, 
Of  clouds  and  windy  music ;  but  ere  long, 
With  all  that  loved  before  us,  we  must  go 
[165] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


And  leave  the  trees,  the  stars,  the  clouds  behind 
For  others  to  delight  in.     I  am  thine! 
I  love  thee !     Let  the  mystery  of  dusk 
Behold  thee  mine,  behold  thee  in  these  arms 
For  ever  shelter'd ;  that  when  come  the  stars 
To  guide  the  pensive  moon  along  her  way 
To  where  her  lover  waits  her,  they  may  see 
True  love  still  heedless  is  of  death  and  time." 

HOW  still  the  woods  that  morning!     Deep 
in  fern 

The  deer  reclined,  while,  heedless  of  the  sun, 
The  noiseless  rabbits  watch'd  them;  from  the 

boughs 

No  song  descended,  for  the  birds  were  mute 
In  this  one  hour  when  everything  was  still 
Save  the  clear  brook,  whose  babbling  was  of 

fields, 

Sad  willows  and  the  majesty  of  hills. 
The    trees   were   moveless.     Rich   in   memories 
Of  windy  dawns  and  tempest-frenzied  nights, 
When  angry  lightnings  split  in  twain  the  dark 
And  sear'd  the  rocks,  they  waited  now,  at  peace, 
Knowing  the  winds  would  quicken  them  again. 
So  still  the  woods !     When  worn  and  comfort 
less, 

Or  weary  of  To-day's  unloveliness 
And  hollow  men,  seek  thou  the  blessed  trees, 

[  166  ] 


(ENONE 


Our  gentler  sisters.     Thou  shalt  see  old  Pan 
A  nymph  pursuing  ;  thou  shalt  hear  him  play 
Faint  airs  of  days  far  fairer  than  our  own, 
Illusive  airs  that  wander  down  the  wind 
Like  fragrance  of  blown  roses.     O'er  thy  head 
Shall  fall  the  evanescent  glories  that  were  thine 
In  days  of  youth,  and  peace  shall  come  to  thee 
And  make  thee  envied  of  life's  emperors. 


AVD  now  CEnone  laid  upon  his  hair 
White  hands  of  comfort,  but  her  eyes  were 

sad 

Despite  the  happy  curving  of  her  lips. 
"  I  love  thee,  Paris,"  almost  whisper'd  she, 
Though  no  one  else  could  hear  her.     "  In  the 

dawn 

I  oft  have  watch'd  thee  following  thy  sheep 
To  stilly  uplands  where  Aurora  casts 
Her  gleaming  greeting  as  the  stars  go  down. 
And  oft  I  wish'd  that  I  were  with  thee  there, 
To  share  thy  dreams  and  such  a  destiny 
As  blesses  men  that  ask  not  over-much. 
But   more   I   know   than   thou,    to   whom    the 

stars 

Convey  no  message,  in  whose  ears  the  wind 
No  promise  whispers.  I  have  read  thy  fate, 
And  mine,  sweet  Paris."  But  the  youth  was 

fond. 

[167] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


"  To-day    we    love,"    he   answer'd.     "  Let    the 

gods 

To-morrow  send  me  bitterness  or  woe, 
This  hour  has  made  me  equal  unto  them ; 
Thy  lips  have  bless'd  me.       Having  won  thy 

love. 

Naught  else  is  in  their  giving ;  holding  it, 
I  scorn  their  anger  though  they  send  me  death. 
Within  these  forests  I  would  ever  dwell 
With  thee,  (Enone.     Of  ambitious  men 
The  gods  take  note ;  their  lightnings  search  for 

kings, 
But    overlook    the    shepherd."     "Thou,"    she 

said, 

"  Art  kingly,  Paris."    But  he  silenced  her 
And  said  again  he  loved  her,  telling  her 
Of  days  to  be,  of  sunsets  and  of  dawns 
And  stilly  nights  of  moonlight  and  of  peace. 
And  then  she  kiss'd  him.     "  For  thy  dreams," 

she  said, 

"  I  love  thee,  Paris.     Many  years  I  dream 
With  trees  and  flowers  and  the  contented  things 
That  love  the  sunlight.     It  is  all  that  counts. 
Dream,  then,  and  love  me.     While  thou  may'st, 

be  true — 

Nay !  lay  not  thus  thy  fingers  on  my  lips ; 
For  more  I  know  than  I  would  weight  thee  with, 
My  own  heart  being  heavy — and  be  kind 
[168] 


CENONE 


Until  the  gods  shall  draw  thee  otherwheres 
And  leave  me  grieving."     Now  the  woods  were 

still, 

Save  when  the  bee  droned  softly  in  its  flight 
From  flower  to  flower,  unmindful  of  this  pair 
Whose  dream  was  golden  as  the  air  itself; 
And  then   there  peer'd  from   out  the  bushes' 

shade 

Brown  eyes  upon  them;  but  the  stately  doe 
Saw  nothing  harmful,  and  so  browsed  a  while 
And  pass'd  away  beneath  as  stately  trees 
To  other  dells  as  stilly.     And  at  last, 
Her  perfect  face  still  pale  above  his  heart 
And  list'ning  to  its  music,  Paris  spoke 
That  heart's  own  passion.     "  I  am  thine,"  he 

cried. 

"  Forever  and  forever.     Read  again 
This  night  thy  stars,  when  on  thine  eyes  no 

more 

My  fond  lips  linger.     All  is  passing  here. 
Thy  loveliness,  my  passion,  both  are  doom'd 
As  are  the  leaves  that  tremble  o'er  our  heads 
When  sighs  the  wind  above  them.     Yesterday 
Awaits  the  shrunken  spectre  of  To-day, 
And   both   shall   mock   To-morrow.     All   goes 

down 

To  utter  silence;  and  the  hopes  of  men 
Are  vain  as  is  their  boasting.     Love  me,  then, 
[  169] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


And  make  my  love  more  perfect.     To  the  hills 
The  dawn  shall  lead  me.     Thou  shalt  hear  me 

pipe, 

My  sheep  around  me,  such  illusive  airs 
As  lure  pale  nymphs  from  shadowy  retreats 
To  brave  the  sunlight;  but  the  gentler  dusk 
Shall  turn  my  footsteps  homeward,  unto  thee, 
My  sweet  CEnone."     It  was  bravely  said ; 
For  youth,  with  careless  laughter,  wind-blown 

hair 

And  eyes  whose  eagerness  is  not  yet  dimm'd, 
Heeds  not  the  gods.     It  holds  within  its  hands 
Its    gift    of    joy,    its    tall    and    flame-crown'd 

torch, 

And  runs  its  race  regardless  of  their  frowns 
Or  distant  thunder.     Change  concerns  it  not; 
Dread  Death  is  but  a  fancy  when  it  loves. 
And  this  (Enone  knew ;  for  she  was  wise 
As  trees  are  wise,  whose  pretty  leaves  prepare 
Earth's  solemn  couch  for  the  eternal  sleep 
Awaiting  trees  and  lovers.     On  her  lips 
The  smile  still  trembled,  but  her  eyes  were  sad 
As  erst  they  were.    "  Day  hastens  to  its  close," 
She  said  at  last,  and  kiss'd  again  his  hair. 
"  A  little  while  and  from  its  lonely  nest 
The  dove,  the  forest's  hopeless  melodist, 
Shall  raise  its  sad  remonstrance  to  the  stars 
And  win  our  hearts  to  pity.     From  the  trees 

[ 


GENONE 


Long  shadows  steal,  and  soon  sweet  Night  shall 

lay 

Her  holy  hands  upon  us.     She  will  bless 
The  nestled  birds  and  all  whose  mission  is 
To  make  the  fair  day  fairer.     To  thy  sheep 
Go  thou  in  haste,  lest  an  unshelter'd  ewe 
Should  miss  its  lamb  at  dawn-burst.     Then  to 

me 

Come  thou,  Beloved.     See !  the  shadows  touch 
Thy  feet  and  mine.     We  whisper  and  we  dream, 
Surer  of  time  than  misers  of  their  gold, 
Yet  life  the  while  is  passing ;  in  the  dark 
We  tell  our  vows,  and  suddenly  we  find 
Bleak  age  upon  us.     Then  the  dream  is  done, 
The  glory  over;  and  the  wrhile  we  stand 
Like  wither'd  sheaves  on  desolation's  plain, 
The  joys  we  gather'd  and  the  joys  we  miss'd 
Haunt   us   like  spectres.        O  my   love,   make 

haste ! 

Afar  I  hear  the  melancholy  horn 
That  calls  another  to  the  boat  of  doom 
And  the  unsated  Boatman.     There  at  last 
We  both  must  go,  and  the  dear  things  of  day 
Shall    greet    our   eyes    no    longer.     Therefore 

haste 
To  where  thy  sheep  are  calling.     Dawn  must 

find 
Thine  arm  about  me,  and  mine  eyes  so  glad 

[171] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


That,  should  the  gods  destroy  us,  e'en  in  hell 
Their  light  may  comfort  thee  and,  comforting, 
Forever  and  forever  keep  thee  mine." 


UT  they  that  sit  in  judgment  over  all 
Disturbed    them   not,    nor   even    noticed 
them 

For  many  years.     With  birds  and  gentle  things 
Whose  sister  is  the  forest,  they  were  one, 
And  one  with  nymphs  and  lighter-hearted  fauns 
And  speedy  centaurs,  swift  as  were  the  winds. 
On  morns  of  palest  gold  and  lavender, 
The  grass  still  dew-drench'd,  from  their  shelt'- 

ring  trees 

They  spied  the  virgin  Huntress  and  her  maids 
Flashing  with  all  the  noiselessness  of  light 
From  dell  to  dell ;  or,  when  the  day  was  done, 
The  long  chase  ended,  with  less  eager  feet 
And  careless  laughter  homeward  o'er  the  hills 
By  twos  and  threes  returning.     One  by  one 
CEnone  named  them,  mark'd  this  wondrous  hair, 
That  alabaster  bosom,  or  a  brow 
Imperiously  perfect,  chastely  pale. 
But  Paris  gazed  serenely  at  the  face 
Beside  his  own,  contented ;  hers  he  deem'd 
Far  fairer  than  the  fairest  of  the  nymphs 

[  m  ] 


(ENONE 


Untouch'd  as  yet  by  Love's  enflaming  dart 
Or  humanizing  kisses.     To  the  streams 
She  led  him  in  the  dawn-hush,  where  they  saw 
The  slant-eyed  satyrs  bathing,  riotous 
As  children  in  the  water ;  through  the  woods 
To  where  the  fields  encroach'd  upon  the  wilds 
They  slipp'd  at  even  and,  themselves  unseen, 
Watch'd  the  brown  tiller  of  the  browner  soil 
Conclude  his  toil,  the  herdsman  drive  his  kine 
To  peaceful  waters  or  their  night's  repose. 
And  night  by  night  they  sought  a  hidden  spot 
Where   nymph   nor    satyr   ventured.      Mighty 

trees 

Enclosed  a  pool  of  such  sweet  restfulness 
That  much  they  loved  it,  and  would  sit  them 

down 
And  tell  their  dreams  there.    "  When  thou  leav- 

est  me/' 

(Enone  whisper'd,  "  I  shall  come  by  night 
To  this  dear  spot;  and  thou,  where'er  thou  art, 
Shalt   know   that   I    am    constant."      And    he 

laugh'd 

And  stroked  her  tresses ;  but  she  sigh'd  again, 
And  bade  him  promise  to  be  true  to  her. 
For  them  old  Pan  blew  wistful  melodies, 
Or  airs  so  joyous  that  they  laugh'd  and  danced 
Until  the  forest's  silence  chided  them ; 
And  then  they  knelt  beside  him,  while  he  sang 
[  173] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


What  once  had  happen'd  when  the  trees  were 

young1 

And  gods  made  merry.    When  the  tale  was  told 
They  wreathed  his  brows  with  laurel,    and  he 

pass'd, 

Still  piping  to  the  welcome  of  the  trees. 
The  Seasons  came,  the  woods  re-visiting — 
Spring,  with  her  joyous  laughter ;  Summer  then 
And  sober  Autumn ;  and  with  sadder  mien 
The  lagging  Winter,  with  its  brighter  stars 
To  keep  men  hopeful.     And  the  lovers  dream'd 
From  dawn  till  eve  regardless  of  the  Hours, 
Unmindful  then,  as  e'en  to-day  they  are, 
Of  love  or  death;  and  then  they  dream'd  again 
When  Sleep,  so  wise  and  so  compassionate, 
So  tender  and  so  kind,  because  so  old, 
Breathed  on  their  heavy  eyelids  from  the  dark. 

UT  love  so  perfect  never  long  escapes 
The  gods'  attention.     They  were  watch 
ful  now 

Of  Paris  and  OEnone ;  from  the  heights 
Of  crystal  silence,  coldly  luminous, 
They  look'd  upon  them  and  devised  a  plan 
To  wreck  this  happiness,  as  one  may  wreck 
The  finish'd  effort  of  the  toiling  ants 
Or  patient  spider.     Paris,  they  decreed, 
Should  judge  who  fairest  was  of  goddesses 
[  "4] 


CENONE 


(Themselves  too  wise  to  solve  the  argument 
Then  stirring  heaven)  ;  and  bribed  by  promises 
Of  earth's  most  perfect  woman  for  his  wife, 
His  own  forgetting,  he,  one  gleaming  morn, 
Crown'd  Venus  queen.     The  greatest  tragedies 
Have  ever  small  beginnings.     Priam  now 
In  distant  Troy,  the  gods  still  furthering 
Their  fell  designs,  caused  contests  to  be  held 
'Twixt  youth  and  youth,  his  war-like  sons  and 

all 

Whose  names  then  famous  were  for  bravery 
And  man-like  qualities — the  prize  to  be 
A  Trojan  bull,  the  best  that  paw'd  the  ground 
Of  Ida's  summit  or  dismay'd  the  herds 
In  smiling  meadows.    And  the  slaves  whose  task 
It  was  to  seek  it,  found  that  Paris  own'd 
The  lordly  beast,  and  dragg'd  it  to  the  king 
And  were  rewarded ;  but  the  shepherd  swore 
No  hand  should  ever  tame  it  save  his  own, 
So  arm'd  himself  for  conquest.    Naught  avail'd 
GEnone's  tears  and  naught  her  wifely  love, 
And  naught  the  thoughtless  prattle   of  their 

boy — 

Their  only  darling.    He  was  eager  now; 
And  laugh' d  and  bade  her  love  him  till  he  came 
With  hard-won  laurels.    And  she  answer 'd  not ; 
For  woman  pays  with  tears  and  bitterness 
For  man's  ambitions.    But  before  he  went 
[175] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Still  eager,  from  her  presence,  from  the  woods 
Where  nevermore  their  whispers  were  to  sound, 
And  nevermore  her  laughter,  on  his  hair 
She  laid  her  hands.     "  The  gods  be  good  to 

thee," 

She  said,  and  kiss'd  him.    "  I  shall  think  of  thee 
When  morning  breaks  upon  my  loneliness 
And  to  the  skies  thy  son  uplifts  his  hands 
In  child-like  adoration;  in  the  dusk 
I'll  breathe  thy  name  and  winds  shall  carry  it 
To  where  thou  sleepest,  dreaming  of  my  love. 
A  little  while  I  still  would  cling  to  thee, 
Would  feel  thy  strong  heart's  beating.     In  the 

night 

When  all  alone  I  lie  upon  my  fern 
What  anguish  now  awaits  me !    But  of  thee 
My  thoughts  shall  be,  and  I  shall  pray  for  thee 
When  saddest  is  my  heart,  and  heaviest. 
I  kiss  thee,  thus.    For  never  shall  we  tread 
These  woods  together,  nor  be  mad  again 
In  blessed  twilights  as  we  once  were  mad 
With  stars  and  fragrances,  and  happy  things 
That  wot  not  of  their  own  impermanence. 
And  yet  I  feel  that  thou  shalt  come  to  me 
In  death's  dread  hour,  that  I  upon  this  brow 
May    place    my    hands    before    earth's    heavy 

weight 
Lies  heavily  upon  it,  O  my  love. 

[  "6  ] 


CENONE 


There  lies  thy  road.     Go,  love,  and  look  not 

back. 

My  love  thou  art,  my  shepherd  ;  go  thou  now 
As  goes  the  hero.     I  shall  follow  thee 
With  eyes  that  look  their  last  upon  the  sum 
Of  all  most  perfect,  all  that  is  belov'd 
Beneath  the  skies.  My  heart  is  breaking.   Go  !  " 
And  he  was  gone.    Troy  beckon'd,  and  he  went, 
As  men  have  ever  gone  when  Fortune  call'd, 
The  one  forgetting  who  must  stay  behind. 


A^D  now  from  time  to  time  there   reach'd 
the  woods 

Faint  echoes  of  his  doings.     One  there  was, 
An  idle  goat-herd,  whose  delight  it  was 
To  woo  Lanassa;  while  another  sought 
Love's  favors  of  fair  Thornax.    When  they  met 
These  silly  swains  would  tell  them  what  they 

knew, 

And  they  in  turn  told  pale  Ocyroe, 
Who  told  (Enone,  e'en  as  maids  to-day 
Will  ever  gossip.     Thus  the  woods  soon  heard 
How  Paris  by  his  beauty  conquer'd  Troy 
And  made  men  wonder  where  a  youth  so  fair 
These  many   years   had  wander'd.      Then  the 

news 

Of  how  his  valor  proved  invincible; 
How  Nestor,  Cycnus  and  old  Priam's  sons 
[177] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Had  fled  before  him,  warm'd  CEnone's  heart 
Because  she  loved  him  and  was  proud  of  him. 
But  very  pale  was  that  Ocyroe 
The  while  she  heard  QEnone's  praise  of  him, 
And  oft  she  bent  her  head  above  the  boy 
Whose  prattle  naught  could  silence.     What  to 

him 

Were  deeds  of  valor  when  the  air  contain'd 
The  dipping  swallow  and  the  butterfly, 
The  wayward  thistle-drift  and  humming  bee? 
And  soon  the  swains  were  telling  of  the  fight 
With  steel-thew'd  Hector  who,  though  beaten 

down, 

Drove  Paris,  refuge  seeking,  to  the  fane 
Whence  incense  upward  curl'd  to  Jupiter, 
And  where  no  man  might  slaughter.  There, 

too,  came 

Cassandra,  the  far-seeing,  unapprised 
As  yet  of  Troy's  red  ending  and  her  own ; 
Who,  seeing  Paris,  and  how  like  he  was 
To  anger'd  Hector,  ask'd  him  who  he  was 
And  where  the  years  had  hid  him.    Unto  her, 
Pale  Death  beside  him,  Paris  told  the  tale 
Of  his  upbringing;  and  she  wept  with  him, 
And  led  him  forth  to  Priam.     To  his  breast 
The  old  man  clasp'd  him,  while  the  weight  of 

years 
Fell  from  his  shoulders  like  a  heavy  robe 

[ 


(ENONE 


And  left  him  happy;  and  the  sons  came  up 
And  call'd  him  brother  and  were  glad  to  claim 
With  Paris  kinship.    Then  all  Troy  rejoiced 
And  mighty  torches  made  the  night  seem  day. 
But,  hearing  this,  CEnone  turn'd  away 
And  left  the  teller  of  the  tale  alone. 
For  well  she  knew  that  Paris  now  must  go 
The  ways  of  princes,  and  the  woods  no  more 
Might  lure  his  footsteps ;  never  now  the  peace 
Of  meadows  call  him.     He  was  one  with  kings 
And  kingly  aspirations.     Pomp  and  war 
Would  draw  him  ever  from  the  arms  of  her, 
And  gleaming  Glory  lure  him  to  the  heights 
Whence  simple  love  is  banish'd.     To  her  breast 
She  press'd  her  boy;   and  when   the   nymphs 

would  come 

With  gifts  of  fruits  and  berries,  golden  corn 
And  fine,  firm  olives,  bade  them  look  at  him 
And  note  his  chubby  limbs,  his  curling  hair, 
His  eyes  and  all  the  loveliness  of  him. 
But  oh !  the  constant  sorrow  of  her  lips, 
That  told  her  heart's  eternal  heaviness. 
And  then  the  story  of  Hesione, 
King  Priam's  sister,  forced  by  Hercules 
From  home  to  wedlock  travell'd  to  the  woods 
And  thrill'd  the  nymphs ;  for  Paris,  it  was  said, 
By  their  enamor'd,  faithful  messengers, 
Had  built  a  fleet  of  triremes ;  pack'd  with  men 

[179] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Whose  very  shouts  would  terrify  the  stars, 
Huge-handed,  iron-muscled,  they  had  saiPd 
With  Paris  as  their  leader  to  her  aid. 
And  once  again,  GEjione,  having  heard 
This  latest  fable  (for  it  was  no  more), 
Had  wept  a  little,  but  was  proud  of-  him, 
And  pray'd  the  gods  to  speed  him  on  his  way. 
But  Thornax,  who  was  wise  beyond  her  years, 
Said  nothing  when  the  other  nymphs  extoll'd 
CEnone's  lover.     For  the  youth  whose  steps 
Had  follow'd  Paris  when  he  tended  sheep 
Was  now  in  Troy,  and,  loving  him,  she  knew 
What  maids  might  there  allure  him.     Even  now 
She  saw  soft  arms  around  him,  heard  him  sigh 
When    whitest    fingers    bound    his    brows    with 

leaves 

Of  oak  and  fadeless  laurel.     Paris,  too, 
Would  prove  as  fickle — ah !  she  knew  it  well, 
That  little  nymph  whom  never  herd  might  win. 
And  then  one  day  all  Troy  ran  here  and  there, 
While   Priam   clutch'd  with  marble  hands   his 

throne 

And  glared  in  silence.    For  the  tale  was  told 
By  one  who  sail'd  with  Paris,  now  return'd 
To  where  his  own  were  calling,  that  his  lord 
Had  steer'd  for  Sparta,  where  of  Menelaus 
Fair  Helen  wife  was,  deem'd  most  beautiful 
Of  all  earth's  wondrous  women.    Under  guise, 
[180] 


(ENONE 


So  said  this  man,  of  paying  sacrifice 
To  bright  Apollo,  he  had  woo'd  and  won 
The  blue-eyed  queen  from  husband  and  from 

home, 

And  now  was  Troyward  hasting.    At  his  heels 
Ten  thousand  ships  with  thrice  ten  thousand 

men 

And  Greece's  princes,  eager  for  his  blood, 
Smote  the  curl'd  waves  asunder ;  they  would  ask 
Of  Priam's  hands  before  the  month  was  gone 
The  bright-hair'd  prince  and  his  adulteress 
Or  leave  the  city  level  with  the  plain 
For  winds  to  scatter  with  the  desert's  dust. 
Thus  raved  the  bearded  fellow,  while  his  eyes 
Roam'd  from  his  pallid  wife  and  little  ones 
To  where  the  far  hills'  green  security 
Loom'd  indistinctly.    And  he  fled  to  them 
With  those  he  loved,  and  was  not  seen  again, 
Nor  ever  heard  of.    And  the  sun  went  down 
Upon  a  silent  city  and  a  king 
Whose  doom  was  written  though  he  knew  it  not, 
Whose  children  were  to  perish  by  the  sword 
And  he  to  follow  by  that  bloody  end. 
All  this  was  soon  imparted  to  the  nymphs, 
Who  told  (Enone;  and  the  later  tale 
Of  how  one  golden  dawn  her  Paris  came, 
The  gleaming  Helen  with  him,  to  the  town 
That  f ear'd  his  coming ;  how  the  aged  king, 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Himself  a  victim  to  a  thing  so  fair, 
Had  scorn'd  the  stern  ambassadors  from  Greece 
And  brought  his  woe  upon  him.    Then  no  more 
Might  shepherds  slip  through  closely-guarded 

gates, 

Past  horrid  engines  and  encircling  camps 
To  where  the  pale  ones  trembled  in  the  woods, 
Their  news  awaiting.     But  at  night  they  stole, 
Those  fearsome  nymphs,  to  where  by  bushes 

hid 

They  still  might  peer  upon  the  fated  town 
And  its  grim  menace.     And  the  leaping  flames 
That  sometimes  rent  the  horror-stricken  dark 
Spoke  to  the  breathless  watchers  of  the  slain, 
Whose  hands  no  more  might  grasp  the  javelin 
In  Troy's   defence;  whose  eyes  outstared  the 

stone ; 
Whose    dreams    were   over.      And    they   crept 

away — 

Lanassa,  Thornax  and  Ocyroe — 
To  quiet  pools  or  thickets  odorous 
Where  ne'er  was  heard  the  rasping  engines'  din 
Or  the  lean  jackals  howling  on  the  plain. 

WEEKS   pass'd,   and   months.    Upon  the 
gentle  trees 

Time  lays  no  weighty  hand ;  alone  on  men 
It  presses  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave 
[182] 


OENONE 


And  crushes  mad  ambition.     From  a  seed 
The  sapling  springs,  and  is  content  to  grow 
With  still  insistence  through  the  centuries, 
Itself  a  part  of  beauty;  heeding  not 
Its  fair  example,  we,  who  deem  us  wise, 
Clamor  against  the  silence  of  the  stars 
And  die  before  its  life  is  well  begun. 
Months  pass'd  and  years.     The  meadows  were 

as  fair 

As  when  the  sun  first  woo'd  them ;  and  the  hills, 
Aware  of  how  their  hearts  for  ever  held 
Impenetrable  secrets,  at  the  skies 
As  calmly  stared  as  when  no  eye  had  seen 
The  first-laid  stone  of  Troy's  magnificence. 
Years  pass'd — and  years !    Pale  woe  and  paler 

Death 

And  pitiless  Destruction  o'er  the  town 
Had    grinn'd    and    glared,    while    Desolation 

stalk'd 

Its  batter'd  walls,  its  horror-haunted  streets 
And  fear-fill'd  palaces;  but  still  the  woods 
Were  greenly  peaceful,  and  the  song  of  birds 
Was  all  that  sometimes  broke  their  silences. 
And  though  the  shepherds  long  had  wander'd 

thence, 

Too  fearful  to  be  constant,  now  and  then 
The  nymphs  would  learn  the  sorrow  of  the  town 
And  tell  CEnone.    Much  they  held  from  her ; 
[  183] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


For  Paris  now  was  hated  of  all  men, 
And  all  condemn'd  him.     In  his  palace  lay 
The  one  whose  perfidy  was  cramming  hell 
With  Troy's  fair  children;  but  her  eyes  were 

cold 

To  all  save  Paris,  and  she  watch'd  them  die 
With  unconcerned  gaze  and  lips  as  firm 
As  was  the  archer's  bow  that  guarded  her. 
And  though  men  bade  him  send  the  harlot  home 
That  war  might  cease,  and  Troy  be  glad  again, 
Her  arms  were  magnets,  and  they  drew  him  in, 
And  he  forgot  the  anger'd  multitude 
Upon  her  peerless  bosom.     In  their  hearts 
Men  hated  her  and  Paris ;  yet  so  fair 
This  wondrous  pair,  these  lovers  of  all  time, 
That  each  forgot  his  grievance,  seeing  them, 
Yet  cursed  again  when  they  had  pass'd  away. 
These  tales  were  told  and  somehow  reach'd  the 

nymphs, 

Now  older  and  far  sadder  than  of  yore 
When  first  they  gather'd  on  the  slanting  hills 
And  laugh'd  at  love  and  lovers.    But  the  years, 
Those  awful  years  of  carnage,  lessen'd  not 
(Enone's  love  for  Paris.    From  the  woods 
She  drew  fresh  courage,  and  her  boy's  clear  eyes 
Were  stars  of  promise.     Moments  came  to  her 
When  the  bright  beauty  that  encircled  her 
Fill'd  her  with  longing  for  the  peace  that  is 
[  184] 


(ENONE 


True  beauty's  spirit,  and  she  cried  aloud 
For  Paris,  Paris.     Yet  she  doubted  not 
That  he  one  day  would  part  the  greenery 
And,  like  a  splendor,  greet  her.     Though  no 

more 

She  heard  the  faithful,  pale  Ocyroe 
(Long  gather'd  to  the  comfort  of  the  soil) 
Re-tell  his  doings,  she  was  sure  of  him, 
And  sure  that  soon  her  eyes  should  see  again 
The   form   so  dear.      To   that  sweet   pool  she 

went — 
The  pool  that  heard  their  whispers — night  by 

night, 

And  dream'd  of  him.    In  her  accustom'd  place 
One  silv'ry  night  when  she  was  seated  there, 
Her  love  should  find  her;  and  her  vows  re-told, 
Her  lashes  wet  no  longer,  they  would  seek 
Their  sleeping  boy.    To-morrow !    If  not  then — 
Ah !  many  years  her  lips  had  f orm'd  the  word 
As  darkness  closed  about  her;  many  years 
The  dawn  had  found  her,  lifting  quiet  eyes 
To  where  Hope  smiled  upon  her  loneliness. 

SWEET  Hope,   most  mild   and  most   com 
passionate, 

Life's  kindest  of  companions.     From  the  skies 
Where  gleaming  stars  attend  thee,  thou  dost 
bend 

[ 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Earthward  thy  gaze,  and  o'er  despondent  men 
And  those  who  scorn  the  hatred  of  the  stars 
Thou  lookest  benediction,  smilest  peace. 
Thy  mantle  trails  the  darkness  that  lies  furl'd 
About  the  awful  beauty  of  the  worlds; 
But  higher  than  the  proudest  of  the  orbs 
Thy  hands  are  lifted,  and  infinity 
Rebounds  the  aspirations  of  thy  soul. 
Thus  bursts  the  dawn  above  thee ;  thus  the  light 
From  distances  unthinkable  is  pour'd 
To  fill  thee  with  a  promise,  as  by  day 
The  hearts  of  men  are  fill'd  with  purposes 
Beyond   the    hand's   performance.      From    the 

heights 

)Thou  drawest  thus  the  promise  of  the  high, 
The  promise  that  is  hinted  by  the  hills, 
And  sung  by  surging  waters ;  then  from  down 
The  ardent  skies  thou  steppest  to  the  ways 
Whereon  men  wander  aimlessly,  or  with 
Eyes  set  against  the  goal  of  their  desire — 
The  ways  whereon  they  suffer  or  are  glad. 
Thou  shatterest  the  darkness;  at  thy  gaze 
The  lone,  the  lost,  the  broken,  and  the  host 
That  bend  in  doubt  and  tremble  in  despair 
Look  up,  look  out  to  hazy  distances 
Of  pearl  and  promise,  to  the  dawns  that  gild 
The  threshold  of  the  Future.     JEons  hence, 
With  all  their  idols  shatter'd,  soulless  creeds 
[186] 


GENONE 


Flung  to  the  writhing  turmoil  of  the  winds, 
And  dreams  long  dead,  men  still  shall  follow 

thee, 

And  lift  pale  hands  above  the  moment's  stress 
Whene'er  they  see  thy  flaming  face,  0  Hope! 


A^D  true  it  is  that  Paris,  mark'd  at  last 
For  that  grey  place  where  greyer  shadows 

tell 

Of  life's  illusions;  where  the  mists  enfold 
Alike  pale  lovers  and  applauded  men, 
Both  king  and  shepherd,  being  near  to  death, 
Forgot  the  gleaming  Helen,  and  to  her 
Whose  gentler  beauty  haunted  him  in  dreams 
Turn'd  in  his  weakness  and  his  spirit's  stress. 
Whom  Fortune  favors,  Death  eyes  greedily; 
The  humble  live  until  the  shafts  of  Chance 
Fulfill  his  minor  purpose.     On  a  day 
When  never  life  seem'd  sweeter  ;  when  the  air 
Flash'd  with  the  movement  of  a  myriad  wings 
And  hinted  the  protection  of  the  gods, 
Death  stared  at  Paris.     Then  he  left  the  world 
Of  spears  and  heroes,  wounded  mortally, 
And  sought  the  woods  where  once  his  sheep  had 

browsed 
From  dawn  till  dusk.     "  The  end  is  near,"  he 

sigh'd 
To  them  that  stood  beside  him  where  he  lay, 

[  187  ] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Of  death  expectant.     "  I  can  see  no  more 
The  setting  sun  nor  the  encrimson'd  skies 
Above  our  Troy ;  the  thunder  of  the  stones 
Against  our  walls  is  like  the  lap  of  waves 
On  shores  of  golden  velvet.     Bear  me  hence 
From  where  I  lie  to  her  whose  hands  may  cool 
My  burning  forehead  e'er  it  chills  in  death." 
And   one    cried :    "  Master,   we   will   bear   thee 

straight 

To  where,  unconscious  of  the  coming  night 
Which  soon  must  be  her  portion,  she  awaits 
Her  lord's  arrival.     There  she  waits  for  thee 
On  carpets  crimson  as  the  solemn  skies 
Thine  eyes  can  see  no  longer.     Helen  waits." 
But  Paris  cried,  as  if  in  agony, 
And  they  that  served  him  listen'd.     "  Not  to 

her," 

Said  he,  "  I  bid  ye  bear  me.    Let  her  bide 
Amid  her  tapestries  and  see  me  not, 
Whose  life  is  wasted  through  mad  love  of  her. 
But  bear  me  hence,  O  trusted  hearts  of  mine, 
To  where  the  woods  in  pity  gaze  on  us 
Doom-circled  mortals.     From  the  plain  creeps 

out 

A  straight  lean  path ;  if  ye  but  follow  it 
The  line  shall  lead  ye  to  an  ancient  tree, 
The  forest's  outpost.     There  I'll  tell  ye  more. 
I  fain  would  rest  a  little,  being  weak." 

[ 


GENONE 


And  then,  ail-tenderly,  they  lifted  him 

And  laid  him  in  the  hollow  of  his  shield, 

And  raised  it  shoulder-high;  then  look'd  ahead 

To  find  the  matted  path  of  long  ago, 

The  path  he  well  remember'd.     Then  at  once 

The  four  stepp'd  forward,  heroes  all  of  them. 

And  so,  unnoticed,  picked  their  way  through 

death 

In  utter  silence.     Now  the  sun  had  set, 
And  they  that  warr'd  were  gather'd  in  their 

tents 
Or  Troy's  wreck'd  temples,  where  they  pray'd 

the  gods 

For  better  fortune.     Dogs  ran  here  and  there, 
And  nosed  the  dying.     But  nor  dogs  nor  men 
Beheld  the  bearers  as  they  slipp'd  away, 
Their  hearts  as  heavy  as  the  thing  they  bore 
Upon  their  shoulders.     And  they  came  at  last 
To  where  the  oak  gloom'd,  and  of  Paris  ask'd 
Where  they  should  bear  him.     And  he  spoke 

again 
(How  faint  his  voice!) :  "  Go  now  to  where  the 

sun — 

I  know  not  if  it  shine  on  ye  or  not — 
Go  now  to  where  its  splendor  is  last  seen 
By  lovers'  eyes,  as  watching  it  descend 
They  sit  together,  hand  in  trembling  hand. 
Ye  soon  shall  find  a  thickly-shelter'd  pool 
[189] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


Where  even  now  a  deer  may  take  its  fill 
Of  blessed  water.     There  I  oft  have  sat 
With  one  most  dear  beside  me,  in  the  days 
Ere  fickle  Venus  lured  me  to  my  doom 
And  this  unhappy  ending.     Then  I  was 
A  simple  shepherd ;  but  she  loved  me  well, 
And  still  would  love  me,  though  all  men  recoil'd 
From  one  so  base  as  Paris.    Being  come 
To  that  same  pool,  I  bid  ye  lay  me  down 
And  though  I  sleep,  there  leave  me."    And  the 

men 
Had  f ear'd  for  Paris.    "  We  would  stay,"  they 

cried, 

"  To  guard  thee  in  the  shadows.  In  the  night 
Dread  Horrors  lurk  amid  those  awesome  trees, 
And  they  may  harm  thee.  Bid  us  stay  by  thee 
Until  the  woods  grow  golden  in  the  dawn." 
But  Paris  sigh'd,  earth-weary.  "  Lay  me  down 
By  that  still  pool,"  he  whisper'd.  "  Though  I 

sleep, 

I  bid  ye  wake  me  not.     Then  go  ye  back 
To  Troy,  my  heroes.    When  they  ask  for  me 
Say  I  am  happy  with  the  one  I  love, 
And,  being  happy,  ask  no  more  of  Fame 
Or  hard-eyed  Glory.     When  ye  think  of  me, 
Behold  me  in  CEnone's  constant  arms, 
At  peace  for  ever."     And  they  bore  him  on 
To  where  they  sensed  the  sun  had  disappear'd, 
[  190  ] 


(ENONE 


And  spoke  no  word.    For  a  tremendous  hush 
Had  settled  now  on  bushes  and  on  trees 
And  all  that  made  the   forest.     Through  the 

dark 

The  black  bat  flitted,  Pluto's  messenger; 
And  subtle  fragrances  like  incense  rose 
To  where  the  gods  were  planning.     Soon  would 

rise 

The  pallid  guardian  of  men's  destinies 
Throughout  the  night;  and  little  stars  would 

peep 

From  out  the  heaven's  enormous  draperies 
On  Troy's  dejection  and  the  forest's  calm, 
And  wonder,  wonder,  wonder.     But  the  men 
Whose  backs  were  bow'd  beneath  the  sagging 

shield 

Look'd  never  up.     On,  on  and  on  they  went, 
All-silent  in  the  silence,  e'en  as  ghosts 
That  flit  along  the  unresounding  floors 
Of  those  vast  chambers  in  the  underworld 
Where  no  one  questions,  no  one  makes  reply. 
And    soon    they    came    to    where    in    darkness 

gleam'd 
The   pool's    still   surface;   and   they   laid   him 

down — 

Now  fast  asleep  upon  that  bier-like  shield, 
Asleep  indeed,  although  they  knew  it  not — 
And  gazed  at  him  in  silence.     One  by  one 
[191  ] 


IDYLLS  OF  GREECE 


They  touch'd  his  forehead,  yet  disturb'd  him 

not 
Whose  sleep  was  sounder  than  the  dawn  might 

break ; 

Or  tears  or  kisses,  or  the  clasp  of  arms 
Or  passion's  pleading  waken.     One  by  one, 
With   hearts   still   heavy   and  with  heads   still 

bow'd 

They  crept  away  through  the  portentous  woods, 
And  left  him  there,  his  cheek  upon  his  hand, 
His  eyes  tight  closed;  and  on  his  moveless  lips 
The  hint  of  an  unfathomable  smile. 

Here  end  the  Idylls  of  Greece. 
Written  in  New  York,  Santa 
Barbara  and  Denver;  in  the 
years  1900-1913. 


[  192  ] 


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